


Family Dynamics Drabbles

by Instigator



Series: Family Dynamics [5]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Breastfeeding, Domestic, Drabbles, F/M, Fatherhood, First Words, Gen, Illness, Interpersonal dynamics, Kidfic, Kidnapping aftermath, M/M, Motherhood, OCs - Freeform, Parental Advice, Pepper Potts's Shoes, Sexual History, Sickfic, Signe's first kill, bonus tracks, case study, chosen family, first kill, parental ambivalence, parents often don't know what they're doing and are just winging it, sexual development
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Instigator/pseuds/Instigator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and bonus tracks from my Family Dynamics verse. Will be added to as I polish them, or as they get requested. They are not listed in chronilogical order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chicken Soup for the Assassin's Soul

Clint had succumbed first. Which wasn't really surprising, all things considered. After day three he'd had to call in reinforcements, and Nat had come over to help his sorry ass out. But, two days after she showed up, she was down as hard as he was, and it was starting to get problematic.

 

Of all the goddamn things. A flu. A regular, ordinary flu. Not even some kind of super mutagenic virus or bio-weapon. Just a flu. But he was starting to think they'd have to actually call SHEILD medical to come fetch them, since by now they were both exhausted, achy, and having trouble keeping food down. They could power through it, survive- they weren't in any _danger_ , but the effort involving in staying afloat was going to slow down recovery and Clint was really ready to be done with this. But with Nat sick, and Coulson gone, he was down to calling SHEILD, and he _hated_ that, and knew Nat hated it even more. SHEILD had the best medical team on the planet, and he knew it. But that meant that  1) it was completely, embarrassingly stupid to ask them to deal with a regular old virus, and 2) once they got you they held you there until they were 100% satisfied you were fit for field duty again.

 

Really, though, he was avoiding them because, while every medical employee of SHEILD was a consummate professional, Clint had gotten used to being able to stay home when he wasn't at deaths door. He still wasn't really used to doctors or nurses buzzing around- the lack of privacy and unhealthy creature comforts like unlimited pudding. He preferred familiar settings when his brain was only half turned on. He knew Nat felt the same.

 

But, today, when Nat had made them some microwaved soup she'd ended up dead asleep from the effort before even getting to eat the stuff. She was still out, sweating through Clint’s sheets on the other side of the bed, her congealed bowl of soup on the night stand next to her. This wasn't exactly the reason he'd gotten a bigger bed, but at least this way they could keep an eye on each other. He was considering trying to reheat her soup for her and risk waking her up when her phone went off. The fact that she didn't immediately wake up inched up his willingness to call SHEILD in. Her phone was sitting next to the soup on the night stand. He'd have to reach over her to get it, which would involve making her feel pinned if she did wake up, which seemed like overall a lousy idea.

 

"Nat. Phone." he nudged her side. No response. Damn. He wondered where his thermometer was. Did he own a thermometer? "Nat. _Phone."_ This time she opened her eyes. Awake enough at least for Clint to avoid startling her.  

 

He felt a little better when she managed to leverage herself up on one arm and grab the phone. She frowned at the screen. Pepper calling. She hesitated. The ring was starting to give him a headache. "Just answer it."

 

She spared him an exhausted glare before answering. Her finger slipped, and it hit video. Pepper, who defaulted to video, immediately appeared on the screen. Her eyes widened. "Oh my God, Natasha? Are you allright? You look terrible. Am I interrupting something?"

 

Natasha blinked blearily at the phone. "What? No. What do you need?"

 

"I was just calling because we were supposed to meet for lunch today..."

 

Natasha’s eyebrows went up a notch. Which probably meant she hadn't realized the date "Sorry. Lost track of the time."

 

Pepper frowned. Because Natasha did not do that. Did not just loose track of dates and times. Pepper chewed her lip, debating something internally. "Would you like me to stop over? You look like you could use a hand."

 

Natasha frowned again. Wow she was tired to be broadcasting her emotions this much. She was clearly having some trouble keeping up with the conversation. "No, that's fine. Clint's here."

 

Her faith in him might have been heartwarming if she wasn't clearly just trying to avoid Peppers help. He knew he was pretty useless for her right now.

 

Then again, what was the point in broadcasting that fact to Pepper? It'd just worry her. And Clint liked Pepper pretty well. 

 

But, wait, hadn't Pepper offered to come over? Because that...could be really helpful. They weren't anywhere near being out of microwavable soup- Clint had put together a respectable stockpile at the first signs of a flu, but he wouldn't mind someone looking Nat over who was less feverish and exhausted than he was right now. His judgment was not at it's best. And Pepper was _Pepper_.  If she turned out to be on the badguy side they were already screwed as a team. It was...weird to consider someone non-SHEILD knowing they were sick, but Pepper was practically on the team, and the team probably should know they were out of commission.

 

He grabbed the phone out of Nat's too-loose grip. He'd pay for that, later. "Hi. Please bring Kleenex. I'd appreciate it. Maybe some more juice."

 

Pepper looked at him sympathetically. He must look about as bad as Nat. He knew he sounded like Fran Dresher. "I'll be right over." She agreed. He nodded, and she hung up.

 

He handed back the phone to Nat, who was glaring as well as her swollen, bloodshot eyes would allow, challenge in her voice "What the fuck, Barton."

 

"I took a nap in the hall the last time I tried to get up and do something, and you passed out after micowaving soup. It's this or SHEILD medical. And at least Pepper's just stopping by. If medical gets ahold of us we'll be cooped up for a damn month without Phil bailing us out."

 

She kept glaring. But she was too tired to even bitch him out properly, so he felt good about his decision.

 

Things didn't go as planned. Pepper came by, but she brought Bruce with her, which ok, he was technically a doctor and all, but this did not seem to thrill Nat. She was every bit as paranoid as her current level of fatigue would allow for. But she didn't grab the gun out from under the pillow when Pepper put a thermometer in her mouth and she didn't outright ban Bruce from Clint’s apartment. Clint tried to sit up straighter, let her know he was actively paying attention to what was going on, since he was at least a day or two closer to recovery than she was. He couldn't tell if it helped or not.

 

Bruce confirmed their embarrassingly normal flu diagnosis, and suggested quietly that they really ought to have someone who wasn't sick around to help out, make sure they could rest instead of worrying about getting food together and such. Pepper had nodded curtly with big worried eyes and called Tony, of all people.

 

An hour later Pepper had somehow managed to overcome Nat’s objections, Tony's snark, and the threat of Clint throwing up in Tony's car and got the two of them ensconced on her couch, swaddled in non-sweat-soaked blankets with mugs of soup in front of them. Pepper was buzzing around calmly, brokering billion dollar deals on her phone and pouring them juice.

 

Clint was confused. Tony had some basic medical bay at Stark tower- he had enough weird medical junk going on and enough employees to warrant it. And Bruce was, technically, still a doctor, so that also made sense. But this was Peppers living room and Clint couldn't figure out what he was doing there. From Nat’s wary, watchful, half-aware look, she wasn't either.

 

Then Jamie toddled out of his bedroom, sweaty and flushed and crying, and she scooped him up, promising to call whoever was on the phone back in a minute. With a few soothing words she got Jamie a sippy cup of juice, wiped up his forehead and drippy nose, and deposited him on the couch next to Clint.

 

Which was when it hit him. She was _mom_ ing at them. He'd been thrown by the power suit and the way she was directing Tony and Bruce around, but she was definitely, clearly moming at them. He looked over at Natasha, who was regarding the sleepy, crabby toddler with raised eyebrows. She seemed to be reaching the same conclusion.

 

Pepper noticed both their expressions, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. He'll fall asleep in a minute. Do you mind?"

 

Clint shook his head, she smiled at him, and honest-to-God patted his shoulder before heading back towards the living room table where her laptop was open.

 

He watched her, unable to decide what to make of this. Why was a major CEO, the ex-wife of one of his non-SHEILD team mates, making him soup and giving him orange juice? What part of their interactions could possibly have sparked this kind of bizarrely maternal reaction? He'd spent time around her, even babysat, but that hardly seemed to warrant her taking on this kind of responsibility. He was pretty sure this was more moming than he’d got from his own mom when he’d been sick as a little kid. Clint was sick, probably contagious, hardly walking under his own steam, and generally gross. Pepper didn't like gross. Pepper liked clean, and refined, and efficient.

 

Jamie coughed again, halfway to sleeping, just like she'd said. Well, contagious didn't seem to be an issue, at least. This particular plague seemed to have already hit the tower.

 

He and Nat both startled when Pepper stood suddenly. She looked at them, conflicted. "I'm really sorry. I have to go downstairs for just a minute. I didn't mean to rope you into babysitting. Do you want me to ask Steve to come up?"

 

Nat spoke up this time. "No, it's fine. He's sleeping anyways."

 

Pepper smiled thankfully at them again. Which was bizarre. Why did she keep looking apologetic when she was doing such a ridiculous favor for them? "Thank you. Please just let Jarvis know if you need anything. He'll take care of it."

 

Nat assured her yet again that it was fine, and Pepper shot them one more apologetic glance before leaving.

 

Clint looked at Natasha. "Well, this is weird."

 

She nodded. She was not comfortable with this. "I will punish you for taking my phone, Barton."

 

He nodded and sipped at the soup. It was hot and salty and tasted a little too much of nutrients and not enough like it came out of a can. He looked around the room. He'd been here tons of times before, and it had always seemed a little too big, too posh, for him. But for a sick bed it seemed _absurdly_ over the top. He always tried to lay low, stay out of the way when he was sick. In this room, wrapped in clean fuzzy blankets and seated on the white leather couch, he stuck out like a sore thumb in his ratty flannel pj bottoms and sweaty black tank top. He probably smelled awful. He was too congested to be sure, but he'd been sweating enough.

 

At least with SHEILD he was dealing with people who were getting paid to deal with him. He knew they were being compensated. Pepper had no goddamn reason to be doing this. He looked at Natasha. Well, Pepper seemed to think of Nat as a friend. They went out to lunch and had manicures and stuff. "Youknow, she's probably doing this for your sake" he commented.

 

She took offense. "You're her babysitter, not me."

 

"You're the one she's always taking out to lunch."

 

"We go Dutch." she countered. "She doesn't take me out to lunch. We _meet_ for lunch."

 

"Still. You're her friend.”

 

"That doesn't explain this. She's treating us like..." Natasha’s eyes wandered down to the toddler passed out on the sofa.

 

He looked to. Jamie was wrapped in the same blankets as them, with the same juice in his sippy cup. Clint lifted the cup out of Jamie’s limp little hand and put it on the tray on the ottoman. He didn't need to be responsible for any more of a mess in here. He felt guilty enough. He looked back at Nat. "Not necessarily. You came over when I called. And I'd hardly call you maternal."

 

"That doesn't count." she was surly and defensive. "Me keeping you in working order is like you keeping your bow in good condition."

 

He snorted a tired laugh. But she had a point. He and Nat were a team. they were used to depending on each other for their lives. Pepper only depended on them inasmuch as everyone else in this city did. She didn't need him to be healthy.

 

He knew Nat didn't take care of him completely for utilitarian purposes, had for years. But still, this with Pepper felt different. She didn't wait for a request, she asked permission. Her default was to take care of them. They would have to actively resist her to avoid it.

 

The door opened, again startling them both. God damn he wasn't used to doors he wasn’t in control of when he was compromised. Tony wandered in, little Phil flung backwards over his shoulder, giggling. "Hey. Pepper said she's going to be a while and told me to check on you. Everybody still breathing?"

 

This time Nat started to look actively mad. "We don't need a babysitter."

 

Tony grinned, then ducked as Phil almost kicked his face. "Do I strike you as a babysitter? Am I the type of person a sane person like Pepper would get for childcare?"

 

Clint shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable. "Pretty sure that's her kid you've got there on your shoulder. So, I'm thinking yes."

 

"Fair point." Tony conceded, sitting on the couch. Phil tried to climb off him onto the couch, towards Clint, waving, but Tony kept a hold on him. "But I think if I'm babysitting here it's probably for that guy" Tony pointed at Jamie. "Since I don't think either of you are up for babysitting right now."

 

Ok, that at least made sense. Soothed a little of Clint’s guilt. He gave Phil a weak wave back. Natasha seemed slightly mollified. "And what did she tell you to check on?"

 

"Oh, on you. But Jamie’s here if that makes you feel any better about it." Tony smirked, holding on to Phil’s pant belt loop as the little tornado managed to dig a toy out from under the couch cushions.

 

Natasha’s feathers ruffled again, Clint decided to talk before she did. "We're fine. Besides, you and Phil should go before you catch this."

 

"Already had it. Pepper claims I brought it back from Taiwan last week, which I think is slander, but what are you going to do." Tony's smirk changed, tinged just faintly with something suspiciously like sympathy. It had better not have been pity. He looked away, out the big picture window. "Not used to this, huh?"

 

"It doesn't come up much." Natasha added at a near deadpan.

 

"Mm." Tony agreed vaguely. Clint suspected Tony was trying to say something, the fact that he was trying to think about it first was suspicious. "Well, enjoy it while you can. Peppers a hell of a nurse. I tried to talk her into a little nurse uniform when I had it, but she said something about 'inappropriateness' and it doesn't seem to have panned out. Sorry, Barton."

 

Clint raised an eyebrow at that. "Yeah, not really the top of my priority list right now. But uh...thanks?"

 

Nat rolled her eyes. "Well, unless _you're_ planning to get on a nurse costume, you can go tell Pepper we're just fine. No need for constant supervision."

 

"Yeah." Tony agreed, that look was on his face again. "Look, ah. Just let her do this, ok? It's just a thing with her. And she doesn't do it for everybody." he looked at them. "I know it's weird. Or, it seemed weird to me. I don’t know. She seems to think it's normal. And if you start bitching about it maybe she'll decide it's not normal and quit, and I've already gotten used to having someone around to whine at when I feel like shit. Besides, she likes you."

 

Natasha wasn't convinced. "She's already got two kids and she helps with Signe. She doesn't need to pretend she's our mom."

 

"What? No no no. This is not a mom thing. This is definitely something she does with people she's sleeping with. Or employed by. It's not a...a mom thing. It's just a Pepper thing. Or possibly a socially-well-adjusted-person thing. It just means she likes you. You don't have to make it weirder than that. Besides, you two show up and get things done when there's a crisis around here. This is just how she does that."

 

This wasn't making Clint feel any better about this. Tony's way of looking at this made it feel _more_ intimate. Even more like something he shouldn't be asking for. Not that he was asking. Like something he shouldn't be needing, then. He shouldn't be in her space, her clean white world, taking up her resources when he didn't strictly need to. Tony seemed to detect their hesitance, and frowned, trying another tactic.

 

"Ok, look. Do not insult her by turning this down. She's got a lot to offer and she wants to give it to you. Just let her. If you don't, she's going to think you don't trust her. Or don't like her. Or something. This is not that hard. And you couldn't ask for a safer place to recuperate than right here. I have the best security system in the world, and don't let Fury tell you otherwise. All you have to do is sleep and eat soup. That's it."

 

Clint winced. Ok, he didn't want to insult Pepper. In his periphery he saw Nat looking thoughtful. Phil tried to escape again, pulling Jamie’s blanket and waking him up. The ensuing rain of toddler tears got Tony's attention long enough for Clint to shrug at Natasha. What could they do? They'd be in Peppers debt over this one, but she wasn't likely to call that in in any bad way. Nat didn't look happy about it, but she gave a resigned sigh as Phil raced off to his bedroom and Jamie settled in against Tony, sniffling.

 

Tony eventually got his attention back to them. "So, are you two going to be moderately well behaved patients or do I have to call Steve up here to give you the puppy eyes and the talk about loyalty and everybody doing their part?"

 

"Please don't." Clint answered. Steve was a weakness of his. Of everybody’s. He was a universal big brother.

 

"You sure? Because he still has a lot of movies to catch up on. I made him watch all of the original Star Wars movies with me last week. He really does not understand science fiction, by the way. He kept asking me which things actually existed. So, now I have to build lightsabers." he finished with a sigh.

 

Clint frowned. "You showed Star Wars to the last person on the planet who doesn't know about Vader, and you didn't even invite anyone over to watch? Seriously, Malibu. Not cool."

 

Tony put up his hands placating. "You can have 'Sixth Sense'. Or 'Lord of the Rings'? No big twist in that one, but think how much bitching about proper archery technique you could get him to listen to if he feels bad for you for being sick."

 

Natasha was getting tired again, he could hear it in her voice. "I am not watching any Tolkien movie with Clint. Never again."

 

"Better me than Thor."

 

"True."

 

"I haven't shown Thor 'Star Wars' yet." Tony added with a grin.

 

Natasha shifted, making herself comfortable against the couch finally. "Fine. Call him up here. But I expect a lightsaber by my birthday, Stark."

 

"Am I supposed to know when your birthday is?" Tony asked.

 

"Nope" Natasha stated coolly, taking a sip of the soup. "So you'd better keep it ready, just in case."

 

Clint settled in more comfortably, addressing Tony. "I'll settle on a Millennium Falcon, thanks."

 

Tony rolled his eyes, pulling a collapsed tablet out of his pocket. "Jarvis, get Thor and Signe up here, please, and boot up my lightsaber plans." he pointed at Clint. "And I don't want to hear you ask for the Millennium Falcon again. The Quinjet already leaves that thing in the dust."

 

"Won't handle deep space." Clint countered sleepily.

 

"Gimmy a year."

 

Clint chuckled, only about 1/3rd sure Tony was kidding.


	2. A Sexual History of A. Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case study.

At barely thirteen his discovers masturbation but hates it. Desperate, fumbling attempts in the shower to make his body _shut up_ and _leave him alone,_ to stop demanding things he doesn’t know how to give it. To stop begging him for contact he can’t have and wouldn’t know how to begin to approach. It’s like his body has it’s own hunger and loneliness to compound the ache in his heart and his mind. He tries to do it as little as possible, to avoid the hate and the loathing and shame he feels every time that comes from knowing that for all his “gifts” he can’t seem to manage simply inhabiting his own body the way everyone else seems able to do.

 

But sometimes his wandering or sleeping mind gets the better of him, presenting him with images and thoughts about the men and women he sees, or, less frequently, the boys and girls at his school- strange, foreign creatures he doesn’t understand and can’t approach, who don’t understand what he’s saying half the time and laugh at the way he sometimes trips over his words trying to get his ideas out. He rushes through the curriculum laid out in front of him, trying to get away from them, trying to find a peergroup where maybe he can find some level of connection with someone.

 

At fifteen he’s at college, trying to remake himself fast enough to avoid another ruined reputation, hoping he’s reached far enough that he’ll find some kind of connection. At fifteen, he discovers alcohol- free flowing and readily available to a boy with known genius and plenty of cash. He goes to parties, lying about his age but only a little, and finds that when he’s drunk and everyone around him is drunk his social deficits are waved away and unnoticed. Quickly, he discovers sex, because when he’s drunk and everyone else around him is drunk he can pretend to be charming, and nobody catches him and he finds people willing to touch him- give him some measure of the contact his skin seems so thirsty for.

 

And if he’s clumsy he can pass it off on the beer, he can make a joke, and nobody asks if he knows what he’s doing or if this is a good idea. And this, this he _likes_. It’s not real connection but it’s as good a band aide as the alcohol is and he seeks it out as often as he can. And in the morning, if the person he wakes up next to is startled to see him in the sober light of day, and if they never call, well, he’s no worse off than before and at least it shuts up his body for a while.

 

He does whatever they ask him to- eager to learn and to excel in his new self-medication. Sometimes this means he gets in over his head, steps over lines he didn’t recognize until they were behind him. Sometimes he ends up wandering the campus, shaken and a little more marked up than he meant to get, in the middle of the night. But geniuses are eccentric and young geniuses moreso and if Tony wants to wander the campus at 3am like a ghost with a limp there’s nobody around to question it. The alcohol and another night with another partner does an excellent job of soothing those experiences back into the background again.

 

Once or twice someone gets a look at him by daylight after a night of debauchery and thinks to ask again about his age, or they find it out later. Once, one of them, a senior who’d let Tony blow him the weekend before finds out and hits him, hard, in the kidneys. He threatens Tony if Tony ever tells anyone about what happened, and cusses him out for lying about his age. The idea that anyone could get into trouble for having sex with him had never occurred to him. There had never been any real repercussions that he could see. He’s jarred by it and is relived when his next birthday comes around and he’s at least legal.

 

At seventeen he’s graduated, and at a loss. He has no job and doesn’t need one. He has homes aplenty to go back to, all equally empty and some of them unfamiliar. He’s utterly without obligation, membership or connections. He works frantically just the same, occasionally tossing some new invention or half invention in Obi’s general direction because Obi always seems to happy with him when he does so, and sometimes even invites Tony to stay the weekend while they talk about it. Mostly, though, he works because it keeps him busy.

 

The alcohol is easier than ever to get but the sex is harder. He’d heard someone speak disparagingly about people who go to college parties after graduation and anyways when had he ever spent time around people his own age? He buries himself in booze and science. He realizes sometime before eighteen that he can’t masturbate or have sex without alcohol- can’t shut off his mind long enough to get anywhere with it. Hates himself again for not being able to make himself work the way he can make machinery work.

 

At twenty-one he nearly kills himself. The last barriers between himself and alcohol fall and he throws himself wholeheartedly into clubs, parties, and any other distraction he can find that brings him into contact with other people- ideally, inebriated ones. He tries dating, now, honestly for the first time, and fails spectacularly. He’s too loud and drinks too much and pushes too hard and thinks too much to keep anyone around. He tries a few drugs, and has a fondness for cocaine, which shuts up the clamor in his head like nothing else ever has, until he wakes up one morning to the gruesome sight of what a cocaine overdose can do to your brain if it doesn’t kill you. He realizes there are some things more important than satisfying the aches and needs that eat at him.

 

He severs those ties, moves to Malibu and finds another hard partying crowd that sticks to liquor. Obi appears, says he’s worried about Tony, that he’s heard the rumors and seen the tabloids. Tony laughs it off. Obi persists and tells Tony that it’s time for him to settle down and get to work. Says he hopes it’ll ground Tony some. Says it was in Howard’s will- at 21, Tony takes the company. Tony doesn’t want the damn thing, but Obi is willing to shoulder much of the work, and he does need to keep the cash coming to keep up the lifestyle that gets him invited to all the parties. He starts to work for Stark Enterprises, slows down on the drinking a little, and finds he needs the sex less desperately when he can surround himself with scientists and labs and other people that work all odd hours of the night. They’re all employees, none of them friends, but it’s contact nonetheless.

 

In his twenties he tries dating again, drinks a bit less, stays away from drugs. But he’s still too restless and too obnoxious and can’t keep anyone around. But drinking less, and being around others who drink less he re-devotes himself to being truly excellent at sex. He’s thrilled to begin to work other peoples bodies the way he works machines- be able to get the responses he’s looking for, from their bodies if not from their hearts. He learns to ride the sensations himself, surfing them rather than clenching against them, even when sober. He learns to jerk off sober and when he wants to, and at last feels some amount of control over his own body. The relief is profound, and he finds himself with a calmer, more genuinely self-assured swagger that makes sex ever easier to get.

 

But he’s still himself- too fast and too much and too selfish because he owes nothing to anyone, and someone, he suspects Obi, sends him a handler disguised as a personal assistant. Far too late to be a babysitter but possibly not far off. Tony wonders at first if she’s meant to be a temptation- all long pale limbs and clear eyes and sharp clothes, until he witnesses the incredible competency of her. She is efficiency personified, somehow melded with the perfect ratios of patience and stubbornness for dealing with Tony’s bullshit. He realizes within a week that he needs her, and within a year he realizes how desperately he needs her.

 

She causes a problem because she stands out- an obvious connection and tie and need in a sea of nearly nameless people. She’s beautiful and sharp and brilliant in a way Tony defiantly isn’t and just so grounded. But he’s learned by now what happens when he tries to make them stay, and keeps his hands to himself, trusting her to manage this relationship that she’s somehow forged between them, and unwilling to risk her with his own brash attempts at altering that relationship. He is very, very glad he’s learned to masturbate.

 

By forty he’s all but forgotten early intrusions and demands that had shaken him in his early years. He’s renowned now for his ability to get his sexual desires dealt with, and with his ability to get others off. He’s got a truce with his body, which he’s mostly learned to look after, feed, etcetera. It still claws at him- his skin and…he would say soul if he believed in such things…still craving things he can’t have, but he’s got acceptable, safe ways to numb the worst of those out, and overall he’s coping well.

 

But at forty his body is forced to deal with a new level of intrusion- his chest cracked and drilled and his heart wired up to prevent a yet more deadly force from shredding him. His heart, his lungs, his worldview shattered around truths entirely foreign to him. But the truce he’d made with his body holds, and he survives it. He forgives his heart it’s damaged state and takes what measures he can to protect it and keep it running. He reworks his worldview and his identity. He’s done it before. He learns the new needs of his body and pushes to try to accommodate them.

 

At forty, Pepper tries, albeit somewhat demurely, to kiss him. Indicates for the first time an interest in his body and heart, now that both are strange and altered and even less resembling anybody else’s. Tony freezes, caught between trusting Pepper to know what to do, and the fear of chasing away one of a very short list of ties he has that brought him back from the desert. She senses his lack of reciprocation, draws back, and he runs.

 

By the time he regrets it it’s too late, and he’s efficiently shut down by her when he tries to breech the subject again.

 

At forty-two, he’s a full-blown superhero and she’s no longer his employee and she handles yet another crisis in those fantastic heels she always wears and they fall into each other. Tony has never been happier and is honestly not sure if he’s ever been more terrified.

 

But she handles him, like she always has. She senses his needs and sets to work fulfilling a whole new range of those needs in ways that leave Tony breathless. She has him, body and heart and mind and he finally isn’t thirsty anymore.

 

At forty-three he meets Captain America, and handles it poorly. He doesn’t realize until later how much he still resents the man for his appearances in Tony’s dreams when Tony was young and desperate and fumbling for comforts he wouldn’t know for a long long time. He didn’t know he could hate people based simply on the attraction he’d felt to photographs when his body was cursing at him. He shakes it off, resentment he doesn’t need. Steve is a good guy, a good friend, and another tie Tony can hold on to. He lets that bitterness go. He has Pepper.

 

At forty-four he’s married, and she’s promised to stay. She tethers him to the world no matter how many times someone or something tries to take him out of it. He gets blown up, shot at, suffocated, and every time he comes back to her. He’s happy.

 

She’s less happy, he prays not unhappy. She feels the tether between them stretch every time he cuts it too close. She worries about his eyes or hands wandering, and it makes him angry. He tried to explain- his wants, his needs, she fills them all and he doesn’t need anyone else, but every time he tries it comes out sounding like platitudes or accusations and she doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know how she can fill his needs to perfectly and not understand that she’s doing it. He tries to show her- use his body and everything he’s learned about sex from a thousand nearly faceless strangers to prove it, but while she enjoys it, she still doesn’t understand.

 

At forty-five he learns he’s going to be a father, and it’s as deep a shock as any he’s felt. Somehow it strikes him as a bizarre, unheard-of consequence of the sex he has with Pepper as often as he can manage. He’d never gotten the hang of sex having consequences. It’s a mistake, an accident, something he’d never have asked for and once again he’s angry with his body for making bargains he doesn’t know how to keep.

 

But she loves him and he loves her and he’s finally so grounded that maybe he can take on something new- a new and dangerous connection to a creature the size of an ice cube, this peculiar consequence of one of the best things in his life.

 

Peppers pregnancy is difficult and he is wracked with regret- never an emotion he’s dealt with well. Again he hates his body for putting Pepper in such unnecessary danger, for putting her at the mercy of this unseen thing, this hazardous part of Tony that kicks her on the inside and keeps her in bed when she should be out in the world being miraculously efficient. She can’t have sex with him now, and he knows he shouldn’t go back to drinking, and he spends the next several months living on a razors edge without knowing were to turn to for release.

 

The thing is born, and Pepper is safe. Tony is shocked to see the creature- small and male and not a part of Tony at all. His own tiny person, full of needs and shrieks and a constant desire for attention. His son. His and Pepper’s son. He makes peace with his body again, because Pepper is safe and he has a new connection to the world- a new reason to come back. Sex takes on a whole new meaning for him- the conduit for a new best thing in his life.

 

But he still gets a vasectomy. One terrifying, painful miracle is enough.

 

Pepper doesn’t want sex for several months after that. At first, the unexpected absence is clearly felt, but after a while he settles in- finds new ways to hold on to the connection with her. They have a new way to connect over their boy, and again, Tony is happy.

 

Pepper and his son are kidnapped. He gets them back.

 

His son is kidnapped. Tony and the Avenges get him back.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

Pepper files for divorce. She loves him but needs the distance from him for the sake of safety- hers and their son’s. He panics, argues, drinks, makes things a hundred times worse. The divorce is finalized.

 

And this is a new brand of hell, because he’s no less tethered to the world than before, feels his connections no less keenly, but the clawing thirst, the hunger for connection and intimacy is back and roaring in his veins. He can’t drink it away as much as he’d like because the team wont let him. He goes out seeking sex and finds it as readily and easily as he ever has. It’s less effective now that he knows it’s a shadow of the real thing he’s holding, but it’s better than nothing.

 

Pepper gets angry at him. Shouts things about role models and strange women around their son. Tony argues back, shouts louder. He’s furious that she’d let him get used to feeling whole, then take part of him away and begrudge him whatever stopgap measures he can find. He’s furious she doesn’t seem to ache with the same desperation he does.

 

He finds out later he was wrong about that. That she’d gotten her needs met in her own way, with his best friend. Knowing she’d been as desperate as him is slim consolation. Knowing she got Steve, who Tony had burned for during his adolescence, is enough to drive him to lock himself out of his more sensitive and dangerous tech and into a bender like he hasn’t indulged in since he was twenty-one. It lasts a week, then another to recover from it.

 

He makes up with Steve and with Pepper and the rest of the team because he has to. Because if he’s not tethered to the world he’ll get sucked into the whirlpool inside him and never crawl back out, and because he can’t stand being destroyed by this after everything else he’s survived.

 

He stays mostly away from sex for a good long time. There’s the occasional groupie when he’s out of town, but he never brings anyone home. He gets bitter about the increasing collection of gorgeous people living in his tower, every one of them off limits so he doesn’t repeat the mistake he made with Pepper. He fights with Steve a lot. Steve, who looks just the same as he did in the photos his dad kept around the house, just the same as he did in the one picture Tony’d tried to squirrel away in his bedroom that one time, hoping that if he looked at something beautiful he could get the whole thing over with faster. Steve who protected Tony and who stood beside Tony to protect things more important than either of them. Steve, who radiates a rock-like steadiness and is such a tempting harbor that Tony knows isn’t for him.

 

They fight. They make up.

 

And again.

 

And again.

 

And Tony gets used to this new normal, adjusts himself again. Tries to focus on the kinds of connections he can have. Thanks god (but not the god living in his house) that his body at least makes fewer screaming demands for contact he doesn’t have access to anymore. Tries to learn to use the kind of contact he can get. Tries to clear his mind and think about his attitudes about sex, since now apparently he’s going to be watched and mimicked and looked up to.

 

He thinks critically about sex for the first time in his life- later than he should. Sees some of the mistakes he’s made, and the costs and the consequences. Decides that some of those mistakes were worth the cost, and that others weren’t. Decides that this isn’t what he wants for his son- shame and anxiety making way for recklessness and desperation. He tries a little harder to be happy with what he’s got. He’s happy yet again he’d learned to be proficient in masturbation, since there is certainly no shortage of fantasy fodder around. He keeps it to himself, tries to think about what he says and what he does and how he’s going to be seen, and tries, again, to rebuild himself.


	3. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint did not mean to steal major milestones in parenting. It just sort of...happened.
> 
> Written for qisforqbit on Tumblr. Thanks for the prompt, Q!

The thing is that Clint totally didn’t mean for it to happen. 

 

Luckily, nobody else knew about it. 

 

He was pretty sure there would be some pretty serious jealousy going on if anyone else in the tower realized that he was the only person to hear not one- but all 4 of the kids first words. Well, not Alma’s _first_ first words of course. She was 6 after all. The story of her real first words were lost in Ethiopia. But he’d got her first English word, anyways.

 

Obviously, Phil was the first. He was also the one that started youngest. Clint didn’t track age in weeks the way Pepper did, but he knew little Phil looked a lot younger when he started talking than other kids. He wasn’t even especially close to walking, yet. But Tony had been swearing for a couple of weeks that Phil would start talking any day now. Tony talked to Phil constantly, naming things, trying to coax words out of him. Phil was an avid babbler, but so far, no words. Tony was on high alert, determined to be there, and to make sure Jarvis recorded the event for posterity. Pepper and basically everyone else rolled their eyes, but it was cute the way Tony doted, so nobody was going to argue. 

 

Clint babysat for Pepper quite a bit. He had a lot of down time between missions, and he got along with babies and little kids. They were less judgmental than adults. Well, ok they were just as judgmental but most of the time they couldn’t remember shit long enough for it to matter. And Phil was still entertained by peek-a-boo so this was easy. Clint got to feel useful, Tony got to work without distraction, and Pepper got “the glowing sense of security that comes from knowing that one of the most observant, patient people on the planet” was watching out for little Phil. 

 

Clint expected Phil to protest at being taken away from his blocks for nap time. Phil never liked naptime until he was sleeping. He expected shrieking or crying. He didn’t expect the loud, clearly enunciated “No!” hurled at him when he went to pick Phil up. Clint froze for half a second, checking his memory to see if he’d heard that right. Phil waved a drooly wood block at him. “No!”

 

Clint knelt in front of the couch. Shit. “Did you seriously just-“

 

“No!” Phil waved the block again, but looking more triumphant than defiant. “No No No!” Phil grinned, smug about his new skill and by Clints slack-jawed reaction. 

 

Clint gave a quick laugh. “Yeah, actually, I’m pretty sure you did.”

 

“No!” Phil shrieked with another grin, and threw the block. Clint caught it, reflexively. 

 

Clints smile faltered. “Shit. Why did you do that here. In front of me.” In Clints part-time New York apartment. Where he’d insisted on no Jarvis because it was creepy being watched and recorded all the time. Which meant Phils first words, the words Tony and Pepper had been waiting for with baited fucking breath, had just landed on the wrong audience. Clint sighed, smiling again. He ruffled Phils still baby-soft hair. “Well, luckily you’re not gonna tell them. They can think they got you pissed off enough to start talking all on their own.” 

 

 _No_. Of course his first word would be _no._ Stubborn adorable brat. Clint made a point to smile at Phil, who grinned back. Proud and indulged. Clint loved seeing a kid be proud and indulged. “Ok, pipsqueek. How about some applesauce, then?” Phil lit up, kicking feet with tiny ridiculous designer shoes. Clint’d put on some Teletubbies while they ate and let the little genius drop off on the couch.

 

Nobody had to know.

 

The second time, he did have a witness to his accidentally stealing a major parenting moment. But, seeing as it was Phill and he was only a little ways into 1 years old at this point (and still mostly sticking to _no_ as far as vocabulary went), Clint wasn’t too worried about it getting around. 

 

But do you know what does get around? Asgardian toddlers. Where Phil learned to talk early, Signe learned to walk early. Which was fine. Except that walking was _immediately_ followed by running, climbing and god-damn _jumping._ Apparently the bodywheight-to-strength ratio was different with Asgaurdians starting right out the gate. So, that was exciting. Apparently Asgardian babyproofing involved a lot of stone walls. 

 

Clint could keep up with her, though. Her legs held her up but they were still short little legs. 

 

And he only turned away from her for a minute to change Phils diaper. Clint was a champion speed diaper changer. 

 

By the time he turned back, she was in the kitchen, with a cubbord open, and a _jar of peanut butter._ So, now she could open jars. He would have locked that drawer if he’d known that. 

 

Obviously, she’d done what any 1 year old with an open jar of peanut butter in her lap would do. She’d shoved her whole fist into it, then shoved her fist most of the way into her mouth, while somehow managing to get the sticky goo all over her face and hair, and dabbed onto the front of her shirt. When he approached, setting Phil down, she smiled angelically at him, shoving her little hand back into the jar with a happy sigh, and coming out with a fresh coating of extra creamy JIFF.

 

Phil stomped a normal toddler stomp over to her, shrieking and reaching his hands out in the universal sign for “gimmy”. Signe sucked on one of her fingers, but once he got close enough, she held out her sticky, saliva-smeared hand to give her buddy a sample. Phil rammed his face into her hand, trying to work out an angle that got at least a little PB into him instead of on him. Signe compensated for this by plowing her _other_ hand into the jar, since her first hand was busy being an incredibly ineffective spoon.

 

Clint sat down, heavily, smiling in spite of himself. “You do jars now, huh?”

 

Signe smiled at him, shoving her hand back into her mouth. He wasn’t gonna rush to stop her. Bathtime was already inevitable, and the jar was already full of baby spit. He dug out his phone to take a picture. An urgent sound brought his head back up. Phil was still playing zombie to Signe’s right hand, but she held her left out to Clint, expectantly. She offered her treasure again, looking hopeful. 

 

Well, he’d had worse. He leaned, scraping some of the spittle and condiment off her pudgy little hand with one finger, and popping that finger into his mouth. She grinned. “Mm-mm. Thanks, kiddo. Extra creamy. My favorite.”

 

Signe bopped in place, mouth half full. He was still able to make out “Peabutter” around the smacking. 

 

Clints eyebrows raised. Both these kids had doting, adoring parents who hovered over them. Both of them. “Not you to.”

 

“Peabutter?” Signe suggested again.

 

“Can’t argue that.” Clint agreed. Signe bounced in place again, unfazed as Phil got his own sticky fingers into the jar in her lap. 

 

Clint pulled out his phone, and snapped a few dozen pictures. He’d never tell, but he’d always remember this as a landmark.

 

Now Jamie waited so long to talk Pepper was starting to worry. She said the specialist had told her not to worry yet, and that even though Jamie was well over a year and a half old based on his birth date, measured from conception he was only a little bit behind. Pepper worried anyways. He was pretty sure Steve did to, but Steve was less likely to let Clint see it. Their efforts to coax words out of Jamie had slowed down, now. Except for Phil and Signe, who both loved naming things for Jamie at every opportunity. Especially dinosaurs, Disney characters, and machine parts.

 

Clint wasn’t worried. Jamie didn’t talk but he listened. He understood some things. He paid attention. Clint was pretty sure he wasn’t slow. 

 

This time, he was sitting on the couch, watching the tv with his head cocked to the side. It was a kid channel, everything on it sanctioned by Jarvis. This time he was in Peppers place. Once he started babysitting actual toddlers it’d gotten easier to do it where all there toys were. Phil and Signe were with Thor right now, at the pool, but Jamie hadn’t done so well with the pool last time, so Clint had been called in to cover.

 

This channel had a lot of repetition to it. So when the jingle came on that signaled the little PR bit the team had done for the network about being nice to other people (sort of hilarious since Clints version of being ‘nice’ in terms of the public eye mostly consisted of him shooting people on behalf of other people) Jamie perked up. He pointed at the screen, waiting to see people he recognized eagerly. He got excited every time.

 

Clint smiled, walking over and pointing at the tv. “Yeah, you know this one, huh?”

 

Jamie’s hand waved more insistently, urgently. “Daddy!”

 

What the hell? All three of them? He wasn’t a live-in nanny. What were the odds that they’d all decide babysitting time was the time to start talking.

 

He laughed. Couldn’t help it. He turned towards the tv a little to point. Jamie’d waited so long to talk, he deserved some fuss over it. “Yeah! That’s right it’s-“ he froze. On the screen, Tony smiled an _I can’t believe I’m on PBS what happened here_ smile. Clint replayed the bit in his head. Tony would have been on the screen when Jamie’d said it. 

 

Crap! Clint knelt down. “No, no, kiddo. Shit, sorry. You just talked and I’m correcting you.”

 

Jamie looked at him, chin down, lips a little pouty. Crap. Should he even be addressing this? Probably not.

 

But then again, if Steve had heard what Jamie’d said… well a guy would have to be hurt by his kid calling someone else daddy, right? Especially when Steve was right there. Steve came up on the screen, and Clint paused it. “See? There we go!” Clint forced some cheer. “There’s daddy!”

 

One of Clint favorite things about babies was the way they could look so skeptical when they had no idea what was going on. Jamie was the best at this that Clint had ever seen. Big baby blues narrowed and Jamie was a perfect blend of Pepper and Steve, his expression one that clearly outlined that he didn’t think Clint had really thought this through too well. 

 

Clint sighed. Shit. No, he was gonna fix this. He pointed again at the tv. “Comeon, kid. You know this. Tony’s not the only guy who fawns over you. Look, see? Daddy! Say daddy!” he coached. Well, wheedled, pointing at the screen. Jamie continued with the look. “No, seriously. You have no idea what’s at stake here. That’s daddy, ok? C’mon. For me? For Steve?”

 

Jamie’s tone matched his voice to a tea. He pointed vaguely at the screen. “Papa.” He corrected. 

 

Clints eyebrows notched up again. “Papa?”

 

“Papa.” Jamie affirmed.

 

Two words in under a minute. “Well. Ok, then.” Daddy and Papa. 

 

Just out of curiosity, he unfroze the program. Jamie perked up again, then pouted when Clint paused again, on Thor. “How about him? Who is this?”

 

Jamie didn’t like his show interrupted, but he obliged. “Fahber.” Father. He was just using the names he’d heard from Phil and Signe. Clint pointed at himself. “What about me? What’s my name?”

 

“Kint.” Jamie suggested, shyly. Apparently he’d figured out _why_ Clint was fussing. Clint fast forwarded and paused a few more times. Nat. Buce. Pulled up a cover of Business World. Mommy. That one brought him out of his shell again a little, grasping for the tablet and photo of his mom.

 

Not just Jamies first word. His first 7. Little Jamie had an honest-to-God vocabulary. Clint laughed, setting onto the couch and handling Jamie the tablet with the picture of Pepper. Jamie took it, happily. Clint wrapped an arm around tiny shoulders. “Well, hell. You’ve been holing out on us.” Jamie looked up at him, round eyes blinking owlishly at Clint. He hugged Jamie. “Good job. You got them all right.”

 

Jamie smiled then, ducking his head just a little. “Kint.”

 

Clint grinned, patted his shoulder. “Yep. Got it in one. You make sure to show Papa and Mommy that tonight, ok? Just don’t tell them I got a preview.”Jamie didn’t answer. He was back to the screen, which Clint stated over from the segment with the Avengers. 

 

Oh. Clint looked up at the ceiling- couldn’t get out of the habit. “Hey, Jarvis?”

 

“Yes, Agent Barton?”

 

“Maybe don’t tell them they missed this?”

 

“As you wish, sir.” And Clint was mostly sure he heard approval in that disembodied voice.

 

Alma learned to talk long before anyone in her new family knew her. At the time, Clint only knew a bare handful of phrases in Somali. “Run”, “killer robot”, “Get out”, “Where is food?”. Things like that. Bruce was fluent. Nat was conversational. The rest of them were lost when it came to the sweet, thin little girl who Bruce had suddenly appeared with last month. 

 

Like with Jamie, Clint could tell she was starting to pick up words. She knew dinner and shoes and pizza (she was not impressed with pizza. At all. But would eat whatever was put in front of her.) But when anyone (Mostly Jamie and Signe) tried to coax any English out of her, she retreated, and turned silent. But she was delighted that the kids were trying to learn Somali for her, and amused at Clints continued attempts to communicate. 

 

The older 3 didn’t need a full-time babysitter anymore. Jarvis would generally do the trick as long as an available adult was in the building. But if Alma was left alone to long she tended to get scared and start crying. Sometimes she’d hide. Clint couldn’t take it. Bruce was around a lot, and Alma was well behaved enough to be allowed up in the lab most of the time. But today’s lab experiment involved radiation and unstable quantum somethings and Clint had jumped at the chance to babysit. He missed babysitting and Alma was a marvel.

 

They were playing connect 4. She seemed to be doing ok, today. She said something to him in even Somali and he was pretty sure he heard the word he associated with drinking in there somewhere. He nodded gestured at the kitchen. “Be my guest, peanut.” She smiled thanks, probably not understanding a word, but getting the message, and pushed off to pad silently towards the kitchen. 

 

Once she got there, she climbed up on the counter. He opened his mouth to object, but she’d seen him let Signe do the same thing two days ago. If he told her not to, she wouldn’t know why she wasn’t allowed to do what other kids did. Clint did not know how to explain “nearly indestructible demigod from another realm of existence who will not crack her head open” in Somali. 

 

He did stand up, heading over to the kitchen. “Hey, you know I can help you with that-“

 

Her foot slipped. His breath caught as she toppled and he lunged forward.

 

She managed to make a grab for the fridge door on the way down.

 

It almost stopped her, but then the door swung open, tugging her little socked feet right off the slippery counter and tumbling her to the ground. He sprinted the last few steps. He didn’t hear any scream, any cry, and his heart stopped as he rounded the kitchen peninsula. 

 

Alma was sitting on the floor, one hand still gripping the fridge handle over her head. Her eyes were dazed, confused. She didn’t look upset. She looked back up at where she’d fallen from. He knew better than to freak out. If he freaked out she’d freak out. “Whoops.” He said instead.

 

“Whoops.” Alma echoed, still gazing up at the fridge. She didn’t look confused anymore. Just startled.

 

Was _whoops_ English? It sure wasn’t Somali. He grinned. “Whoops.” He said again.

 

She blinked twice, then looked at him. First she grinned, then she looked bashful. “Whoops.”

 

He came over and lifted her up “Whoops!”

 

She giggled, forgetting to be selfconcious. “Whoops!” he set her down on her feet, and she giggled again. “Whoops! Whoopswhoops.” As English words went, it was a funny one. A good choice. 

 

“Whoops whoops.” Clint agreed, conversationally. Alma giggled louder, then sprinted back to their game. 

 

And that was four for four. He never told anyone. It was his favorite secret- just a little treasure he kept to himself. The older 3 were just babies and Alma was just parroting him but it didn’t matter. The fact was he’d got to be there for that milestone. Whatever their young, half-formed logic was, Clint had been chosen to hear their words. And those words were his own little treasures.

 


	4. The 6lb Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has second thoughts about fatherhood at the exact wrong moment.

 

Tony paced the cramped waiting room again. He wished it was bigger. He needed space to move around in. He considered leaving the room, but Steve was leaning in front of the door, arms across his chest. He looked worried. Only worried. Steve didn’t have the kinds of earth-shaking stakes in this that Tony did. Tony tried at least a little not to be insulted by that.

 

Steve spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm considering he’d been using his command voice just a few minutes ago. Or maybe that had been hours ago? “Tony, am I missing something? Is there some reason you don’t trust the doctors when they said she’d be all right?”

 

It was a sincere question, at least. Not a challenge. And Tony had an answer. "Did you hear her? This is Pepper. You don’t know her like I know her but she is tough as fucking nails." That fucking sound. That pained noise. That would haunt Tony’s nightmares for the rest of his life.

 

Steve nodded, slowly. "But…isn’t that…normal? I don’t know a ton about this, but the nurses seemed to think it was…and she was still listening to them all right, from what I saw. I’m sorry, by the way, for bursting in. I heard…it sounded like a problem starting."

"I’m sure Dr. Hiens will thank you." Tony answered stiffly. He knew he shouldn’t have gone after the doctor. Pepper was pissed as hell about it, which was honestly the only reason he felt any remorse. But not going to prison for assault was probably a good thing.

“He’s thanking me by not having security throw you out of the building.”

Ok, Tony still wished Rhodey was here, but Steve was working out pretty well. And Rhodey would be here in a few hours. Bruce and the rest of the team were around here somewhere, thank God. Looking after things while Tony lost his mind and Pepper was so vulnerable. So terrifyingly vulnerable and in pain…

Why. _Why_ was this happening? Pepper was hurting and vulnerable and alone and it was his fault. How had he ever let this happen? How had he ever thought this as a good- or even acceptable- idea? He’d encouraged it and now he had no idea _why_. He’d left a piece of himself inside the only woman he’d ever loved, and now it had gone from weighing her down and making her uncomfortable and kicking her on the inside to tearing at her and putting her in pain. How could any man love a woman and put her through this? He was a terrible human being, that was all there was to it. If his world ended today it would be his fault and he would deserve it.

But Pepper wouldn’t. Please please just let her be ok.

Steve’s hand went up to his ear, to the communicator. "I want someone in or near the delivery room. Natasha, could you figure out who Pepper would prefer? Keep us in the loop?"

Tony’s eyes flicked to Steve for a second. Yes. Good idea. He wouldn’t have to trust the damn doctors if he had one of his team there to keep an eye on things. They all liked Pepper. Everyone liked Pepper. Tony hadn’t asked for the plan. They’d just told him they’d take care of it, and he knew they would. He kept pacing. He had to keep moving or drown in this.

Steve sat down, next to the door but not obviously guarding it anymore. He hands clenched together, surprisingly tense as Tony filled the room with his own footsteps. After a few minutes Steve's hand went back up to his ear, listening. He looked at Tony. "Natasha says they gave her something else for the pain, and she seems to be doing fine. Nat’s staying."

Natasha. Yes. Natasha could snap those idiots necks if need be. If they put Pepper in any danger. Tony nodded. He tried to relax his chest enough to breathe better, it helped a tiny amount. Steve watched him again. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Can you make this be over?"

"No." he answered regretfully.

"Got a drink?"

"Not on me."

"Can you go back and prevent this from ever happening? Talk some sense into us 9 months ago?"

Steve sighed sympathetically. "I think you’d know about it if I acquired time travel. So no, sorry. But look, if Natasha’s not worried I think Pepper’ll be fine. She’s…well, she’s pretty paranoid. If she says it’s safe, it probably is. And when it’s done you’ll be a dad."

It was meant to cheer him up but wow, no. That was the last thing Tony wanted to think about.

He’d been trying to keep it to himself, but the words finally burst out of him. “I don’t want to be!” Steve tensed at his sudden leap in volume. "I don’t want that  _thing_  in my house! And I don’t have a choice now. I’m stuck with it. For years.”

Steve looked less horrified than Tony had expected him to. Mostly he looked confused. He was staring at Tony with an intense, uncomfortable scrutiny that wasn’t helping anything because Tony knew how this sounded. "So now I’m going to be  _that dad_  who doesn’t even like his own kid and who shouldn’t have had one to begin with." Exactly what he’d been swearing he’d never do since he was 7 years old. "And do you know what? Right now I  _can’t even care_  because Pepper is in there, in pain, in danger, because of me. Because part of me is ripping out of her and it never should have existed to begin with. So I don’t even care about this _thing_  that’s about to show up in the world because  _I don’t want it._  But Pepper…if she’s ok. She’d never let it go, because she’s a better goddamn person than me. And she’s going to hate me for hating it. But I do. I  _hate_  that thing. If I could go back in time and tell her to abort it I would. Because this isn’t worth it. Pepper being hurt is never worth it. It’s life isn’t worth it. Not to me."

Tony spread his hands, panic overtaking him again. "I can’t do this. I’m not a fit parent. I don’t even want to be. I have _no idea_ what the hell I was thinking with this. And if Pepper…if Pepper doesn’t make it I’m gonna be left alone with it. I can’t do this. Even  _with_ her here, I can’t do this. This. This is the day I cross over into being a terrible human being.”

He wished Rhodey was here. Rhodey would still be angry at him for being such an irresponsible horrible person, but maybe Rhodey already had a more tarnished view of Tony than Steve did. Steve was his friend, but a much more freshly minted one than Rhodey.

But Steve wasn’t recoiling in well deserved disgust or horror. He was still watching Tony with that same open, sincere concern. "Did…you tell Pepper all this?" Tony shook his head unsteadily.

She’d already been uncomfortable, in pain from the pregnancy. How the hell could he have put a burden like this on her? Plus…"It wasn’t as bad, before. She was just…you know…uncomfortable. Not like this."

Steve was silent a minute, thinking. "Maybe then, it won’t be so bad once this is over?"

Tony shook his head and looked away, muttering. "Not holding my breath."

"Looks like you are. You look like your having an asthma attack."

Tony wanted to snap at Steve for that. But since it was probably Steve trying to be nice by not pointing out what a complete emotional wreck he was, he decided to let it slide. Instead, he tried to relax his chest again, bring in a little more air. He rolled his neck, trying to get that whole system rebooted.

Once he got a little more oxygen to his brain he did feel a little better. But he still shook his head. "I can’t do this."

Steve still didn’t argue. “Just focus on getting through the next few hours. How about a distraction?”

"You said you haven’t got any booze."

Steve smirked. "Think if you were drunk now you’d just fly even more off the handle. We could…I have a board game app on my phone. And cards."

Tony turned to give Steve the most skeptical stare he could muster in the midst of panicking. "You want to play gin rummy? _Now_?"

Steve shrugged, a little embarrassed. “We always used to play cards in the field when we were waiting on another shoe to drop. It’s not perfect, but it helps.”

Apt comparison. Tony grudgingly sat in the plastic chair.  This was stupid. But the fact that Steve was at least trying, and after everything Tony’d said and done today, so would at least sit when asked. "Fine. Pick something. Not poker. I don’t play poker without a reasonable pool.”

Steve picked checkers, and won. The fact that he won seemed to simultaneously worry and confuse him. But how often did Tony ever fucking play checkers? Tony switched the game to chess, and won, but just barely. It was irritating enough to hold some of his attention and prevented him from spontaneously combusting. The clamor in his mind was loud, and had some very old, very bad impulses he hadn’t seen in himself in a while, not since…well, before Pepper, but the games gave him one calm point of focus. Occasionally, he’d hear the faint sound of someone reporting in via Steve’s earpiece. Steve’s calm while getting those messages brought Tony’s pulse rate a little bit down, anyways.

A few hours passed. Games of chess with Steve took fucking forever. Eventually, the door to the waiting room opened. Tony jumped, clambering to his feet. Steve didn’t even look surprised.

There was a nurse at the door. She was bordering on dumpy, but had a big smile on her face. "Mr. Stark? Congratulations, you’re the father of a healthy 6 and a half pound baby boy."

Tony blocked those words. "Pepper-"

"Mrs. Stark is doing just fine. She’s in recovery now and you can see her soon. I can take you to see you’re son-"

She had to stop saying that. "Skip it." He growled. "Tell me when I can see Pepper." He dropped back down into his seat, focusing back on his phone and his next move. He didn’t care to see her expression or Steve’s, but there was a pause before the door closed again.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened again. The same nurse showed up- just as dumpy but this time not smiling. "Mr. Stark, I can take you to your wife now. Please follow me."

Tony lurched to his feet. His insides were one tight knot. He felt Steve’s hand give a quick supportive pat on the arm as Tony passed him. Tony didn’t dare look at him. He just had to get to Pepper. The trip back upstairs took roughly a hundred years. In the elevator he started wondering if the nurse had stopped smiling because Tony was a bad person, or because the situation with Pepper had gotten worse. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He just had to see her.

The nurse showed him in, and there was Pepper. Her eyes were closed, reclining on the propped up bed. She was pale and limp and her hair was damp and all her makeup was gone. He was next to her in a flash, picking up one pale, slender hand.

Her eyes blinked open at the contact, focusing on him. She smiled. It was tired, but real and so happy and relived. "Tony."

He leaned over the side of the bed, cupping a hand to the side of her face to kiss her. She felt cold. His hand was shaking, and hers came up to cover and steady it. He pulled away just enough to look at her, and she smiled back at him. He closed his eyes, adrenaline dropping out of his system. He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled for what felt like the first time in 4 hours. Her thumb brushed over his hand. She sighed contentedly.

She leaned back, looking confused but hopeful. "Where is he? I thought he’d be with you."

For one blessed moment he forgot who she was talking about. The newcomer. The dangerous invader that Tony had allowed to do this to her. "No, not with me."

Her brows drew together. "Well, go get him? I only got to hold him for a couple minutes to eat before they wanted to get the stitches in."

Tony’s eyes went wide. " _Stitches?_ "

She smiled at him almost pityingly. “Very common. It’s fine. Just a little tearing.”

Tearing. Actual, literal tearing of her body. God. He stared in open, guilt stricken horror.

 "I really am fine." She assured him  warmly. He shouldn’t be the one getting comforted right now. She was the one who was hurt. Her expression faltered slightly. "It will be a while before we can have sex again, though."

How could she think he could possibly be thinking about sex now? If nothing else he wasn’t _touching_ her until he had a new vasectomy. However she interpreted his expression she seemed to approve of it. She leaned over, carefully, and kissed him on the cheek. "I’m fine. Now will you please go get a nurse to get him? I want him back now, please."

He nodded, numbly, going to the door. He leaned out without actually leaving the room that contained Pepper, and shouted a nurse over- not the disapproving one from before, and asked her to go get it. Then he got back to Pepper and sat by the bed. She pulled his head against her shoulder, and he closed his eyes. He just wanted this. Him, and Pepper, and nothing getting in the way of that.

But the nurse showed up with a pale blue bundle pretty fast, and Pepper lit up, sitting up straighter and dislodging Tony from her shoulder. She reached out her arms before the nurse even got all the way through the door.

She wanted this. She really wanted this. She wasn’t holding the grudges he was. How could he tell her he felt any different? Then again, how long could he fake it and have her believe it? He tried to tell himself even if she hated him it was better than her being dead. And it was true, except he couldn’t imagine the point of living without her, whatever the reason was she was gone.

The nurse smiled brightly at Pepper and handed the bundle over with cheerful, instructive words Tony didn’t pay attention to before leaving again. Pepper cradled the bundle like the precious thing they were both supposed to think it was. He didn’t want to look at it. He knew it was just an infant. He didn’t _want_ to hate it.

Worse, it was his son. He should feel awful for hating it. He looked away, trying to keep his inner chaos manageable.

God, he was going to be worse than Howard.

"Tony?" He turned, had to look at her. She was looking at him with big, worried eyes. He had no reassurances to offer. He tried for a smile, but could tell by the unnatural feel of it on his face and the crease between her eyebrows he missed by a mile. She studied him, and he wondered if she would look at him like the nurse had.

Instead she patted the spot on the bed next to her. He sat there, obediently. Only now, to look at Pepper, he had to see the infant, to.

It was weird looking.

It’s face was squished and it had one off-center tuft of black hair on the top of it’s slightly pointy head. It’s skin was mottled and pink and the area around it’s closed eyes was puffy. He felt an irrational surge of irritation that the thing had the nerve to be so funny looking when it was related to Pepper. it was limp and, to Tony’s eye, unhealthy looking.

She moved and- oh crap she was going to put it in his arms. He took it, haltingly, lacking any realistic means of escape.

Was that really 6 and a half pounds? It didn’t feel like that much.

The tiny, lax body felt impossibly delicate and startlingly warm. It squirmed, making a mewing noise of protest at being passed to Tony, and tried to arch it’s back. He could feel tiny ribs through the blanket bend and stretch as it moved weakly. It was so incredibly helpless and fragile. He’d know that, obviously. That was one of those obvious things everybody knew about babies, but he hadn’t expected to be able to physically _feel_ it just by holding it.

The baby made another mewing noise and gave a weak flail, this time one small arm escaped his blanket, splaying tiny fingers. He wondered if it wanted to go back to Pepper, and was surprised that the thought hurt. It was too stupid a thought to hurt.

The newborn opened his eyes. They were bleary, not focused right, and blue. Very light, clear blue, like Peppers. It blinked, and focused as well as he could seem to on Tony’s face, watching. Tony tilted his head a little, just to be sure, and they bleary eyes jerkily followed him.

He was looking at Tony. Or, trying, anyways.

Tony froze. Anger and rejection were being edged out by some more powerful- but still painful emotion more closely resembling his panic from earlier, or the deep dread he’d experienced when he’d first realized he loved Pepper.

The infant was small, he could easily hold it in one arm, and Pepper gently, firmly grasped his other hand, pulling it upwards. He watched, stunned as she placed his finger against one tiny, warm palm. Impossibly tiny fingers instantly wrapped around it, holding on to him.

That was like a body blow. He knew, he _knew_ that was just a vestigial primate reflex from an earlier iteration of his species. It didn’t mean anything.

But his throat closed up anyways and his eyes turned hot and his vision blurred wetly for a moment.

His son was looking at him, and holding on to him and even if it was just an old monkey reflex it was still his own, tiny action. He wasn’t just a piece of Tony, left behind to endanger and hurt Pepper. This was a new, separate, helpless little _person_ , looking at him and holding on to him and needing him.

His whole world seemed to tilt on it’s access. Somehow, the mere reality of his son called into question everything he knew about the world. Everything was different. There was no fact or facet of reality that didn’t need to be evaluated and reevaluated in the context of his son being in the world.

The calculations ground to a halt as his sons tiny fingers squeezed his. His eyes flicked over Tony’s face and he gave a weak, uncoordinated kick, accompanied by a small, high sound.  Tony’s world narrowed down again and he really wished the universe would stay the same shape for a second so he could catch his breath.

Peppers hand appeared in his world, stroking his sons, no, better,  _their_  sons head. His bleary eyes released Tony and traveled over to look at Pepper, giving another little kick that dislodged a little more blanket and that  _foot._ How could anything have such tiny toes? 

Pepper looked at him, smiling hopefully. She was so beautiful. So perfect and beautiful. Tony wanted to get out his phone and take a picture, but both his hands were claimed. She’d probably be mad at him if he tried it.

The fear was still there but he was sure now. This was just the blinding terror of falling in love. Of being struck with the sudden vulnerability of having someone you’d give anything and everything for. Pepper was ok- was happy and safe and had given him _this._

He was terrified now, but everything would be ok. She was safe and their son was safe and he could actually do this. He had plenty of enough love to devote himself to their boy completely.

He leaned forward, their bodies making an arch over their son. He rested his forehead against hers again. His voice was a rough whisper. “Thank you.”

 


	5. Wolves and Mothers

Pepper sighed down at her tiny son, and tried not to cry. He was sucking contentedly on his bottle. 

The problem wasn’t so much that he clearly preferred the bottle and formula to breastfeeding. It was that Pepper found that a tremendous relief. Not just because breastfeeding turned out to be messy, slightly painful, and frustrating in the extreme. More, because when he was breastfeeding, it was all on her. Either she needed to be the one doing the feeding, or she had to pump beforehand. 

She loved Phil, more than anything. But, it turned out, she didn’t love being a food source. There was something faintly humiliating about it. Then realizing she felt embarrassed at an incredibly straightforward female capability ticked her off because this was the actual function of breasts. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. 

But she was. 

So, between little Phils preference for formula, and her own “low production rate” (ugh, she hated that sort of terminology. It made her feel like a cow. A sub-par cow.), she had an out. A perfect excuse to just give him what he wanted. To let Tony have half the responsibility for feeding their son. Tony was perfectly happy to have it. 

Nobody would blame her. Except her. And she couldn’t shake the guilt that this reflected poorly on her as a mother. Shouldn’t she want to do this? Be pleased to contribute something so vital to him? Maybe she’d feel less guilty if she wasn’t so damn tired, and if her hormones weren’t still tossing her around, but as things stood…she couldn’t help feeling like she may turn out to be a terrible mother. What kind of mother didn’t want to give the best possible nutrition to their child? She sniffed. Oh god, she loved him so much, why did she have to have such a stupid hangup right out of the gate?

There was a knock on the door. Pepper blinked, trying to clear her eyes and look presentable. Nobody knocked on that door that shouldn’t be here. “Come in.” The door opened for Natasha. Who Pepper liked but really did not want to see right now. “Oh. Natasha. Hi. Tony’s still up in the workshop.”

As expected, Natasha eyed mother and child suspiciously. She’d cautioned Pepper about even attempting this. But Pepper had gone ahead anyways. And she didn’t regret it, contrary to how things might look at this moment. Natasha could easily tell Pepper had been crying, Pepper knew that much. “I know. Jarvis told me. I just wanted to check on you, first.”

Pepper knew better than to think Natasha would be here to gloat. If she said she was here to check on them, then that was exactly what she was here to do. Pepper just didn’t like needing to be checked on. Or being a mess when she was checked on. “Oh, we’re getting by.”

Natasha sat, on the chair, not the couch, folding up gracefully, watching. “Is Tony as exhausted as you are?”

“I’m afraid so.” His production was down considerably since Phils birth. As Phils mom, she appreciated it. But she couldn’t rid herself of the CEO voice in the back of her mind warning her about 3rd quarter earnings. She hated that to. She was sure other mothers would kill to have such a faithfully invested and giving father around.  She just felt guilty. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Natasha tilted her head. “Sure. Thanks.”

Pepper nodded. It felt good to move around a little again. She stood, and hesitated. Natasha put up her arms, not demanding she hand Phil over, but a clear offer. Pepper hesitated, mostly because she knew most mothers with an infant this young didn’t like their baby to be passed around. Preferred holding them herself. But Natasha seemed calm, and for all her warnings before Phil was here, she didn’t seem to be judging Pepper. Pepper obliged, pulling a sleepy protest from Phil at the temporary interruption in feeding and being moved, but Natasha held him securely, and he settled immediately. Right now, he didn’t seem to care who held him, as long as he was well supported. Maybe she should be jealous around that.

When she came back, Natasha was bouncing him gently, her voice quiet, gentle. “Hhm, uzhasnuy rebyonok”

Pepper hadn’t often heard her speak Russian. Usually only if she was very very angry. But her tone now was sweet, playful. “Is that a nickname?”

Natasha looked up, faintly as if she’d been caught at something. “No. No it…it means ‘ugly baby’.” Peppers eyebrows raised. “It’s an old superstition. It’s supposed to be bad luck to compliment a baby, especially a young one. Sort of like ‘break a leg’.”

Pepper nodded, sitting on the couch, her arms unusually empty. “I never really met her but apparently I had a Greek great grandmother who spit on me the first time she saw me. She said it would keep the devil from taking an interest in me. Dad was horrified.”

Natasha, nodded, looking relived. She looked down at Phil, then back up at Pepper. She looked a little odd, holding a baby. She clearly knew how, she just didn’t look like other women did when they had a baby in their arms. “I know it’s not my business but…is there anyone around whose business it _is_ to ask why you were crying just now?”

“I am married.”

“Is he faring any better?”

Pepper settled back. “I think he is, actually.”

Natashas eyes narrowed. “Why should he be doing any better? Last I saw him he was all gung ho about doing his fair share.”

“He is.” Tony was doing magnificently. No-one could look at him and not see a man desperately in love. 

Natasha made a considering noise as Phil lost interest in his bottle. She wiped his mouth, and watched him for a long moment. Pepper looked down at him. He was still loosing weight. They told her that was normal. But she wondered if it was the way she was feeding him. Or, the way she was not feeding him. 

Natasha looked at her piercingly, evaluatingly. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Pepper was taken aback. “That depends. Are you going to have to kill me if you tell me?”

The corner of Natashas mouth curled, then fell. “No. It’s not a SHEILD secret. Or a government secret. It’s only mine.” Natasha had set her drink on the floor, untouched. She hadn’t made any move to hand Phil back over. 

“If…you want to tell it to me.”

Natasha looked down at Phil again, who squirmed a little, digesting. Soon he’d get gassy and start spitting up again. “I very nearly had a daughter once. Named Rose. I was… laughably young and unprepared. I lost her. She never took even one breath.” 

Peppers breath caught. She looked at Phil, remembering that tense, painful moment when she held her breath, waiting to hear him take his, so she could know he was allright. How relived she was at that first shriek. How awful it would have been if it had never come. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha didn’t look up. She smiled, bitterly. “I wasn’t prepared for her. But that wouldn’t have stopped me. My whole life would have been different if she had lived. Very, very different.”

Pepper nodded. She’d never really expected information like this from Natasha. This was, in fact, the only time she’d given Pepper any real specific information about her past beyond “Russian”. This was so…intimate. Clearly intended to convey a message. “I…you’re right. At my age…I honestly am happy he’s well. I know you warned me off of this but...”

“I’m right?”

“I should just be thankful he’s ok. You’re right.”

Natasha frowned, looking up at Pepper. “No, I…that’s not what I meant. Motherhood is not a reason not to cry. It’s probably one of the best reasons to cry. I just wanted to know why you were crying.”

“Oh. Uhm. It’s stupid, really.”

“You’re sleep deprived. And unless I’m mistaken, still at least a little anemic. I can chalk any flawed reasoning up to that, if you want.”

Pepper smiled. It was an almost Tony-like offer. “He doesn’t like breastfeeding. He likes the bottle.” She expected some kind of sympathetic statement, some consolation, but Natasha just watched her, quietly, until Pepper confessed the truth. “And honestly…I’m relived. Isn’t that awful? This special, bonding experience, and he doesn’t like it and I…I’d rather give him the bottle.”

Natasha watched her, steadily, her expression closed and unreadable for a long moment. Pepper wanted to look away, but for some reason, she didn’t. She let herself be read. Natashas gaze flicked away for a fraction of a moment, then back again. “Pepper, can I offer you some advice I have no right at all to give?”

That might be a bad idea. She already felt guilty and out of place. Getting advice rarely helped with that. But she nodded. She wanted to know, at least, what Natasha made of her, now. Natasha leaned forward, Phil still cradled in her lap. “The mothers on tv, in magazines and on blogs. They aren’t like you. You aren’t like them.”

Pepper looked down. Well, that was true. Her home was a magazine home. Her wardrobe, to. But this was a mold she couldn’t fit in to. Natasha continued. “I’m not sure how best to say this. But Pepper- you are a wolf.” That got Peppers eyes back on her, baffled. “And I would know. I know one of my own kind when I see one.”

Pepper swallowed, hurt, offended, and guilty. “A wolf. Is this why you tried to convince me not to have him? Because I’m a ‘wolf’?”

“No. Not at all. It’s not a bad thing. Wolves make good mothers. You’ll take good care of your little cub, here. I’ve seen you work. You’re all sharp teeth when you want to be. Moreso than Tony. Than Clint. Than most people. You just keep it in check more than most- especially than most men. It’s not that you aren’t nurturing. But you wont ever be like the moms who write blogs. Who get featured in magazines talking about how perfect and wonderful everything is. You’re too grounded and too practical for that. 

I didn’t try to warn you off parenting because I thought you wouldn’t be good at it. I tried to warn you off because I knew you would tear yourself apart if that’s what it took. Because motherhood hurts. And because your son being the son of IronMan will only make that worse. It was never because I didn’t think you or Tony could do it. It was only that I like you, and didn’t want you to hurt. That’s all.

If Rose had lived, I would never have been the sweet mother doing embroidery for her. I could never be that. But I would have protected her, to my dying breath. I would have provided for her. I wouldn’t care if her food came from my own body or not. Only that she was fed and fed well. I would not have sewn her coat, but I would have kept the fire burning enough to keep her warm. She could have had anything of my body that she needed, but what she could get elsewhere, I would keep, the better to stay whole, and defend her.

We’re given scripts- how to behave, as women, as mothers. But those scripts aren’t written for people like us. They are written for the sweet things that need them. You do not need them. At least, you don’t need to obey them.

So this is my unwarranted advice. Trust that what you are will be enough for him. You are something rare, and precious. And no one who loves you wants you to be something other than what you are. 

I know I could have handled it, if I’d had the chance. So I know you can, to. 

Also, they have things you can take now to reduce breastmilk production. Which believe me, I wished I had. You should take advantage of that if you want it. You can get him what he needs in other ways. You don’t have to do it the way they tell you to.”

Peppers mouth was just slightly agape, and she shut it. 

Well, sure, she had often gone against the grain in life. Not always, but enough. If she wanted something, or needed something. She wasn’t anybodies rebel, but yes, if there was a problem, she went after it. “A wolf, huh?”

“You keep five and a half inch fangs on your feet all day.”

Pepper snorted a small, indelicate laugh. She reached over, and Natasha handed her back her son, who waved a tiny arm at random. It was certainly true she had a protective streak. And yes, Phil certainly brought it out. “Youknow, breastmilk has a number of health benefits when compared to formula.”

“Mmm.” Natasha agreed, vaguely. “Having a sane mother does, to. So I’m told.”

“I’m hardly loosing my mind.”

Natasha shrugged. “If it’s what you feel you need to do, then do it. I couldn’t stop you.”

“And I’m not sure I like you calling me a wolf.” She smiled.

Another shrug from Natasha. “I’ve been watching nature documentaries with Bruce. Besides, I always respected wolves. They’re loyal, and they don’t play with their prey like cats do. When they hunt, they mean it.” 

“I’m really not much of a hunter.”

“Tell that to Obidiah Stane.”

Pepper flushed. “That was mostly Tony.”

Natasha was clearly not convinced. “I also watch Stark Industries business practices. Which-“ she held up a hand to forestal Peppers objections “Are almost always very cordial. _But_ …I also know what happens when you decide a company has crossed a line. If you weren’t also very nurturing, loyal, and loving, I’d have considered you more a shark, and frankly, been worried about Tony associating with you. _But_ you are all those things. And you’ll have a hard time convincing me you’re not a hunter. I’ve seen your closet. You have exactly one pair of ‘fuck me’ heels, and a _lot_ of ‘fuck you’ heels. I respect that.”

That last one was too ridiculous, and true an observation not to laugh at. “Ok, _fine_ I can be a little aggressive in the boardroom if it’s warranted.”   

“Then please, don’t take it as an insult. From one wolf to another. Consider it a vote of confidence. Your instincts are fine. Trust them before you trust people who wouldn’t understand what alternative you have to offer.”

“I…I will think about that. Thank you.” It was a strange peptalk, but one of the more effective one’s she’d been on the receiving end of. Phil squealed, waving his tiny hands. It was like strength-based management practices. Focus resources on proven abilities. Add additional resources to cover gaps.

Be the best at being the kind of mother she actually was. Even if that meant more sleep and formula, and less breastmilk. God, she did feel ready to be less _leaky._ And she’d done more than two weeks…and the first two were the most important ones.

No. No making excuses. Only decisions. Instead of thinking about what she could get by with, she’d do what was optimal. Phil didn’t want to nurse. She didn’t want to nurse. She wasn’t good at nursing or well built for it. 

At this point, she was only even trying it because she was “supposed to”. She looked up at Natasha again. “Thank you. I really will keep that in mind.”

Natasha nodded, and smiled. Some of the strange, intimate intensity from before evaporated. “Good. I’ll go see if our engineer’s asleep at his drawing board.”

“Oh, I doubt it. He’s very good at not sleeping.”

Natasha smiled again. “I’ll see you later. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Natasha left Pepper, alone again with her baby, who was starting to fuss, getting gassy. She rearranged the cloth and her shoulder, and shifted him where he’d be least likely to choke. It was time to start thinking about how to go about this more deliberately. 


	6. A Sexual History of S. Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A non-explicit case study of Steve's sexual development, goes into verse-specific events towards the end.

When he’s 7 years old his mother gives him "the talk", in calm, matter-of fact words. Not long after, his father gives him a second "talk"- the details of which are lost in Steve’s memory but carry the overall sound of "that’s not for you".  And, because he’s 7 and because the whole thing sounds strange and unappealing, he agrees and thinks nothing of it.

When he’s 10 he learns from an overheard conversation that he’d had an older sister who’d barely survived to her second birthday and who’d been sick more than not. He learns from this that having babies is a much more dangerous and complex affair than he’d understood it from his mothers words. He re-commits to obedience of his fathers demand that such things weren’t for him anyways, but some part of him thinks it’s a shame because he thought being a dad might have been nice. Still, it seems not worth the heartache to get there.

When he’s 13 the whole thing seems less strange and starts to take on the kind of appeal reserved for unattainable things. He’s told by laughing older boys once again that that’s not for him, never will be for him. Say it would probably kill him anyways, even if he could get a girl to go with him. He doesn’t say anything to them because he can’t disagree and doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. He’s plenty used to the idea that his health and his body make him a burden and a liability to others, and no kind of a husband. The things the staff don’t say to him seem to imply that worrying about his adult life may be pointless anyways, since he seems unlikely to make it there.

At 15 Bucky and him are sharing a room when Bucky get’s his hands on a pin up magazine that he hides under the dresser. Once Steve walks into the room when Bucky’s got it out, and something about what he sees then is burned into his memory much more vividly than he’d like. Bucky shows him the magazine and swears him to secrecy and Steve knows he’ll never tell anyone about this. Steve tries to make it about the magazine and even tries to look at it on his own once or twice, but he can’t move the dresser by himself and he figures his heart might give out from sheer embarrassment if he had to ask Bucky.

He gets better about knocking on his own door before coming in, and ignoring the occasional rhythmic sounds from the other bed late at night, pressing his pillows over his head even though that makes it hard to breathe. He’s not sure why he always does it so quietly, making sure Bucky can’t hear his discomfort distinctly enough to consider stopping. Now and then he considers joining in, silently taking part, but he’s afraid he’ll be heard. He bites his lip and keeps his hands on the pillow over his head. On the rare occasions he takes matters into his own hands he’s by himself, as fast as possible, and blocks himself from thinking about anything.

By 17 he seems stable- not healthy and still something of a burden, but stable. He doesn’t seem to be dying, anyways. He spends much of his 17th year in a silent panic, trying to convince himself that the thoughts he’s trying to burry about Bucky are just a result of his inability to get a girl to look at him with anything other than abstract pity. Bucky already protects Steve and helps look after him when he’s sick and shoulders far too much of the burden of dealing with Steve’s body’s demands, but this is one problem Steve intends to keep to himself. He tries harder to believe that it’s just that Bucky cares about him and because Steve can’t get a girl.

By 19 he and Bucky have an apartment together, still in Brooklyn. It’s just the two of them now, instead of the hoards of kids at the orphanage, and Bucky is harder than ever to ignore, especially in summer when he wears his undershirts around the apartment. Bucky’s filled out in ways Steve’s just not going to. But, small or not, Steve’s a man now and he takes on as much of the responsibility for dealing with his body’s demands as he can. He develops strong self-discipline and focuses on strength of character since physical strength seems permanently out of his grasp.

But by 20 he’s starting to feel worn out. He’s working full time and the winter is hard on him. He’s sick all the time, but it doesn’t matter because he’s got to make ends meet and Bucky isn’t gonna afford the rent on his own and Steve is just so tired of being a burden. He figures that this is what self discipline is for and pushes through. But he’s too tired to keep up the denial anymore and gives in and lets himself admit he’s in love with Bucky, and attracted to other fellas to. It’s all academic anyways, because it’ll never matter. He likes girls well enough to, but there’s no girl or guy who’re gonna want him, so really it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even like to fantasize because as soon as he turns up in the fantasy it all falls apart, looses it’s appeal, its credibility. But he has the self discipline to keep his eyes from going anywhere they shouldn’t.

By 22 he feels old. He can’t remember not being tired, can’t remember breathing easy. He still lives with Bucky but he’s tired enough that the worst of that seems behind him. If his heart feels broken every time Bucky steps out with a girl, well, it’s still Steve that Bucky comes home to at the end of the night. He tells himself he’s got more of Bucky than it’s reasonable for him to hope for. He forgives himself for loving Bucky and tries to honor that as best as he can- pulling his own weight, even though the less weight he has the more it seems to drag him down, and avoiding the thoughts he knows Bucky wouldn’t want him to have.

That winter it drags him down too hard, and the sickness that’s been nipping at his heels for who knows how long finally catches him. He’s laid out for three months, sick in his bed, almost dies a few times. Once, when his fever breaks and he comes swimming back to reality through a haze of medicines and fatigue, it’s Bucky sitting by his bed as usual, a strange look on his face and Steve figures he must be done for. But Steve recovers again, getting back to what work he can and even selling drawings now and then.

Months later when a friend learns of how much of the expenses Bucky is covering and makes a joke about Steve being Bucky’s little wife they’re both startled when Bucky slugs the guy right across the jaw and storms out. When Steve catches up to him at home Bucky’s got a bottle out and there are tears in his eyes and he tells Steve about what Steve said in a fever months before- that Steve had confessed his love, his attraction, and apologized for the endless burden he and his body had put on Bucky. Steve apologizes again, head swimming, and promises that nothing has to change. Promises he doesn’t expect anything. He knows this isn’t for him. Knows Bucky’s bound to have a real wife one day, and Steve promises to be happy for him when the time comes.

He feels exposed and ashamed for months after, sick in ways he’d hoped could stay private, but Bucky slowly gets back to normal and still walks around in his undershirt in the hotter months and Steve is thankful for self discipline and Bucky’s forgiveness and, if he’s honest, for Bucky walking around in his undershirt. Or a towel right out of the shower. Or just dressed normal but smiling at Steve and talking with him for hours on end.

At 23 Steve moves out. Bucky doesn’t press to know why. He gets a smaller apartment in the area, and prays as hard as he can that he can work enough to afford it. He understands perfectly now why his father had said that intimacy wasn’t for him, that he could never be a husband to depend on, could never attract anyone anyways. Some days he prays that that was all his dad meant, that he didn’t see the hints of deviation in Steve so young. Other days he prays that that his father did see it, that he knew what Steve was even so young, because his father was a kind man and a loving father and maybe he’d known and forgiven and loved Steve anyways. Either way there are days he worries it’s stamped on his forehead for anyone to see.

When the war starts it gets easier to not think about. There are so many other, more important things to think about. Keeping his mind on important matters instead of deviant ones. But he realizes fast how the burden of his subpar body holds him back again. He tries to enlist, over and over, hoping and trying to be something more than a burden. Bucky, whose never been a burden since he was old enough to work, gets taken away to fight a war Steve’s not strong enough even to join, for all he’s back into working shape again and almost doing ok for himself.

He nearly is the last eligible bachelor in New York. It doesn’t matter one bit. Nothing changes except he misses Bucky more and is more ashamed of his inability to contribute.

He meets Dr Erskine. He pushes harder. He volunteers his body to science, to the war effort.

It works. His body is now everything he’s ever wanted it to be. He can help. He pushes and compromises and keeps his chin up and _proves_ that he can help.

He notices Peggy Carter watching him. Has no idea what to do about it but can’t deny it’s a thrill. She’s beautiful and smart as a whip and has such breathtaking confidence, and when she gives him the occasional pitying look it’s because of something he’s done not something he is and seems to hold forgiveness right there at the same time.

He gets Bucky back. He spends more time than he’d like to admit in his own head, reworking his assumptions about his future, starring down the barrel of options never available to him before. He keeps reminding himself that he shouldn’t plan anything until the wars done, till he’s on solid footing again. He thinks it’s funny, in a sad, ironic way that they use his face on the VD awareness posters, when all he’s got is one, deeply regretted kiss to his name, with a girl whose name he doesn’t even know.

But he finds that he can fantasize now, picturing his own participation without flinching, using a body he still feels might be borrowed but which he keeps being assured is his. Maybe he can have a wife, have a family. He knows he can’t have Bucky.

He knows there are two guys in the Howling Commandos who have something between them that only gets talked about in whispers. He considers it some kind of sinful miracle that they managed to find each other. He tries to protect that. He ends up hearing a long and drunken explanation of acts between men that he never would have come up with on his own, because the other guys like to make him uncomfortable and only Bucky would know the full reason he’s blushing that color and Bucky isn’t there that night. He finds it a lot harder to think of nothing when he’s got his hands on himself after that. He feels guilty as hell about it, but bends his mind towards Peggy, hoping she’d forgive him, and wondering if he’d have to tell her the whole truth about him if he married her.

Bucky dies. He tries to drink and fails. Peggy tries to offer him some comfort, but he pulls away, not sure how long it would take him to pull himself together if he lets himself go to pieces and there just isn’t time now. She doesn’t push or turn away and he hopes she’ll still be there later if he can bring himself to go to her. As his plane goes down, days later, he feels sure she would have been.

When he wakes up he wants to get back to her, build the life he was starting to believe could be his, but is far past too late.

And the future is overwhelming. All the rules have changed and everything he looks at seems to be screaming "sex" at him. There’s fellas marrying fellas and women wearing hardly anything and things on the TV in the middle of the day that’re far more explicit than Bucky’s old magazine. He has self discipline but he’s woken up in a world so filled with temptation he doesn’t want anything to do with any of it. He just wants Peggy and Bucky and something familiar and warm.

He meets Howards son, who seems to personify this new future- wrapped in technology and sexual frankness and pushing every one of Steve’s buttons as hard as he can and Steve just can’t stand the man.

But then he learns that Tony can also embody intelligence, self-sacrifice, and bravery, and thinks that maybe for all the changed trappings, the future might not be so bad. So he tries to adapt, keep an open mind, trust his self control to navigate him through the worst of it. And for all that there is frank attraction in many of the glances he gets from the people around him, he seems to be generally assumed "off limits",  apparently due to the reputations of his generation. He interacts with others mainly through the Avengers and through SHEILD, and places people in both categories as similarly "off limits", even though Tony’s swagger and sharpness and eyes keep trying to tug at his attention, and Ms Romanovs deadly competence and the sway in her walk whisper all sorts of dangerous temptations to him.

At 28, he looses his virginity. He’s been with SHEILD and the Avengers for a while, and they end up in France, neutralizing a threat thoroughly enough that Tony offers to put them all up in a nice hotel for the night if they can just go to bed please and the team goes for it. A brazen young woman with dark hair and very good English and an accent Steve has always had a weakness for somehow makes her way to his room, and kisses him like the blond girl at SHEILD had a lifetime ago. He’s passive at first, accepting what she’s offering because _finally_ and he has no idea what he’s doing but she sure seems to. She goads and prods and instructs, working reactions out of Steve until he finally engages and it is incredible and washes everything else out of his head for a while. After, he’s all nerves again, no idea what to say. She smiles and she’s sweet but she leaves, leaving no last name or phone number, and he’s angry with himself for being relived.

At 29, he starts using the internet for more than quick searches- watching news, the peoples thoughts about the Avengers, reading newspapers from all over the world. Then on one search he clicks a link claiming  to be a “SHOCKING IRON MAN VIDEO!!!!”, worried for his best friends reputation and safety, because Pepper shouldn’t have to be the only one worrying about it. At first he’s horrified, frightened, at the sight of Tony, eyes glazed and head back, handcuffed to a hotel bed. Steve’s guilty at seeing something that should never have been shown to anyone, but then he realizes what the video actually is, and is frozen in place, burning head to toe. Years of shared room practice keeps his hands glued flat to the top of the table, despite some minor splintering. But he doesn’t turn it off. It lasts for several minutes and when it’s over Steve continues to sit stock still, fighting with his brain for control.

He takes a cold shower, and the shock of cold water hitting his face when he’s already so far from grounded has the desired effect and then some, viciously cutting off a train of thought. He buries the memory as deeply as he can, determined not to betray another friend the way he did Bucky. Trying not to need forgiveness, not to involve anyone else in his own body’s warped demands. And it works for a while.

At 30, he meets the Winter Soldier, and he’s Bucky and not Bucky and he crushes Steve’s heart in one metallic arm, and Steve stops dreaming of having had Bucky because, impossibly, it hurts more than it used to.

At 31 he’s in a hotel again, and he’s entertained a few one night stands over the last couple years- people who want Captain America and can find their way to him. He’s almost stopped feeling guilty about it, since they come to him and a ladies virtue isn’t the kind of stakes it used to be. But at 31 it’s a man that makes his way to Steve’s door with a sly smile that openly implies all sorts of treasures- a stranger with dark eyes and dark hair and beautiful cheekbones Steve wants to draw, a smirk that reminds him sharply of someone else. Steve’s let him in before he’s thought it through, mortified at the thought of someone seeing this, trying to remind himself that things aren’t how they used to be but still anxious to protect the slightly younger man who’s sought him out. Like his first time, it’s not Steve who makes the first move, willing to be led until he’s got his head on straight. Like before, his partner knows what they’re after and Steve loves the feeling of being that.

When he’s interrupted by a knock on the door he opens it, disheveled and shirtless and worried it’s going to be a call to assemble, but Natasha on the other side takes in his state immediately, then lets her eyes slide into the room at the other occupant. Steve knows that outwardly he’s frozen as inwardly he starts to panic, fear of loosing his team, his friends, his only real anchor in a strange world, until she smiles knowingly and approvingly and excuses herself with a smirk. He shuts the door as soon as he can, mind reeling, this time with relief. He’d been found out yet again, and forgiven without so much as a question. When the man in the room reaches for him again, Steve dives in.

At 32 he’s already tired of the secret and speedy midnight encounters. He’d always known that sort of thing wasn’t for him. There weren’t many of them, and they felt good, but they didn’t sit right with him. He might still not be marriage material, but he wants someone who will at least stay till lunch, for Pete’s sake. So, when his best friends ex wife, lovely and clever and kind slides her hand into his and looks up in his eyes, he makes a mistake.

He knows it’s a mistake before he’s told by those around him. His best friends ex wife, who Tony is still in love with and who is still in love with Tony at least a little no matter what she says, and who has Tony’s young son in her care. He knows she should be off limits, but she doesn’t want to be and by damn he wants this. And she’s beautiful and sweet and lets him hold her and make breakfast and bring flowers. And if he’s half in love with Tony well, so’s she so fairs fair and they don’t have to bring it up. It lasts for three months and she tells him it’s over the same day she tells him she’s having his child- another mistake he knows he should regret but can’t seem to. And if Tony’s angry at least that keeps Steve from clinging to him or giving himself away.

The child is born- too weak to cry and saved only by the futuristic treatments that weren’t around for him or his ill-fated sister. He’s reminded for the first time in a long time that this was never supposed to be for him, that he’s an interloper on a world of intimacy he ought to keep out of. But little Jamie survives and grows and if he’s sickly and small he’s less of both than Steve had been, and now Steve has some family in the world.

So now he’s a cad with a child out of wedlock but nobody seems to mind that these days and Pepper can more than look after herself. Steve had already known he wasn’t marriage material, after all, and if he’s honest he wasn’t ever really in love with her, his heart too taken up with ghosts and unattainable dreams.

On the day Steve’s son is born Tony makes up with him, sealing Steve’s fate. He invited Steve to live in the tower that he and Pepper now keep separate apartments in. Steve joins them, raising a family together since Steve’s son is Tony’s sons brother and Tony is incandescent. After that, Steve knows he’s completely in love with Tony, and he curses himself for doing this _again._ He’d hoped by his 30s that he’d know better to make the same mistake over again. And he lives alongside Tony and Tony wears what they now call "tank tops" in the gym, and a swim suit at the pool and he smiles at Steve and they talk for hours.

But Tony’s still in love with Pepper and while there’s no denying Tony’s a deviant in intimate categories (Steve had actually put blocks in his computer to prevent certain searches after finding out there were MORE such videos floating around) Tony didn’t seem to be _that_ kind of deviant. Tony just looks at everyone that way.

After a couple of years, he goes back to occasionally not turning away the people who make their way to him. He doesn’t date. He’s in love with someone else and couldn’t bear to confess it to someone new. Most of them are women and some of them are men and if rumors surface about him and he looks embarrassed it’s so easy for people to misinterpret that, assuming he’s more prudish than he is, and they laugh the rumors off.

He sometimes lets in the smiling strangers, but usually he doesn’t, since it feels like trespassing every time, and he never peruses anyone. Eventually he learns from those he does allow near him that he’s less normal than he believed- he takes too long and is extra work and he can leave bruises far too easily if he’s not careful, and over time he allows in fewer and fewer of the people at his door in, withdrawing into the tower and towards the different, cleaner intimacy of the relationships inside. Trying, as ever, not to let his body be anyone else’s burden.

He stays in love with Tony, year after year, and tries not to dishonor that when he’s alone and visions of a Tony with different deviances crawl across his mind. He tries to be a good role model for his son, and for Tony’s son, and for the other kids who eventually transform the tower into a very homey extended family he couldn’t have imagined as a boy. And maybe he still isn’t marriage material, but he’s got a lot closer than he honestly thought he could, and has more of Tony than he has any right to expect.


	7. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Signe's first kill. Referenced in passing in Launch.

Signe was fuming, tugging absently at the handcuffs that the villains who'd managed to capture her and Phil had foolishly allowed her to keep in front of her. Thankfully, it was only her and Phil this time. Jamie had gotten away to alert the adults and little Alma was safe at home. Next to her, Phil was grinding his teeth, glaring defiantly at their captors. At thirteen, thin, and smaller than Signe by a good 4 inches, he wasn't very intimidating, but his bravery was admirable. This wasn't a new experience for either of them, and these yahoos were far less skillful and intelligent than their predecessors. Their parents would be along to rescue them soon.

 

The protocol was not to fight once you'd been caught. You fought as hard as you could until then, but once you were caught, you cooperated until rescue. That was the rule. Signe followed her fathers commands and it had always worked out.

 

Her faith was rewarded within moments as she heard Dr Banners bellow and the sounds of crashing. She grinned triumphantly. It wouldn't be long now. They just had to wait out their captors last-minute panic.

 

And they did look panicked, all but the one in a pin striped suit. He looked up at the crashing sounds, frowning. He scowled at the concerned faces and cowardly posture of his comrades and snapped out. "Get them up. We're moving."

 

Standard protocol, but Signe dug her feet in. The less they moved around the sooner their parents would find them. She was only about 5 ft 5inches, but she was much stronger than a human girl her size, a fact which hadn't seemed to register with the bad guys yet, since they had used gas to knock them out to get them here. Two men in black jumpsuits pulled harder at her arms, and they really were amateurs, weren't they? Didn't even try for her knees to put her off balance. One of them hit her across the face with his gun, which stung, but mostly ticked her off. She dug her feet in harder, feeling the aged concrete crack under her heels a little, giving her further purchase. They didn't seem to notice.

 

Phil, unfortunately, was exactly as strong as he seemed, which was not very. He was lifted off his feet between two of the bad guys, but since he'd seen Signe refusing to move, he was doing his best as well. He kicked at the knees of one of the men, but he was too slow and the man dodged the kick. Signe really wished Phil would be bothered with some martial arts. The man who dodged shook Phil by his arm "I'm gonna knock this little shit out. Drayke, get the girl out already."

 

The pin-stripe suit guy snapped at back at him "Don't you touch his head. If Stark doesn't want to play ball we'll see what the kid knows. Our intel says he spends most of the time in Starks workshop. Supposed to be some kind of kid genius. Bet we can get him talking pretty quick, but leave his head alone till we're done with him."

 

The words hit Signe like a blow. She saw Phil freeze up, face going pale and eyes wide. He was too shocked to do anything but stare mutely as his captor grinned. "Hah! We could make a sign up sheet. I can think of a couple of people who'd love to take a crack at him. We could send Stark pictures when we're done! Let him know he should have cooperated when he had the chance."

 

This was new. They'd been threatened before, but always as simple gateways to get to their parents. No-one had ever thought any of them knew anything and they'd never been anything but hostages. Hostages that had to be kept alive to be worth anything.

 

The suit guy was talking again. "Knock the girl out and leave her. That'll slow them down a little. Make sure she needs at least some first aide, but make it quick. We haven't got a lot of time. We're going to have to get the kid here talking before tomorrow morning to pull this off in time."

 

One of the men holding on to Phil let go, advancing on Signe. This time when the other one pulled Phil forward, Phil followed on shaking legs. His skin gone pale, all of his earlier defiance evaporated as his ever creative mind churned through the possibilities of what they intended to do to him. Signe didn't need to picture it. Instead of blind panic a desperate rage filled her chest, and instead of white with fear, her hands and bare arms darkened to a deep, royal blue.

 

She opened the door she kept shut inside, letting the icy fury flood her. She screamed her rage, twisting in her captors grip and bringing her cuffed hands to bear on his neck. Ice rushed from her hands, bleeding out over his throat, mouth, nose, then eyes. Someones ineffective hands tried to pry at her shoulders but she clung on, digging hard fingers into frosted, brittle skin that crackled in her grip. He made a choked, strangled noise, then a wet cracking one before going limp. She released his neck and turned to the villain behind her, this time grabbing at his face, flash freezing his eyes as he tried to hit her, he stumbled away blindly. She was vaguely aware of shouting but the sound of a guns safety being disengaged grabbed her attention far more readily. She turned to meet the most immediate threat but as she did so, the sound of a much closer crash sounded behind her.  The remaining villain looked over her shoulder, eyes widening, and he turned and fled without firing the shot, pushing Phil forward and to the ground before rushing after the man in the suit, fleeing.

 

Signe turned to the sound of the crash, hoping desperately. As she'd expected, it was rescue. Even better, it was her father. His keen eyes took in the situation immediately, and he flung Mjoiner before continuing into the room through the hole in the wall he had created. Signe didn't move as Mjoiner whipped past her, the sound of it's flight swiftly broken by the sound of an impact. Father raised his hand again, finally coming towards them as Mjoiner returned to his waiting hand. Behind her, she heard Phil scrambling upright, and she turned to face him. He'd managed to get into a sitting position, but he was pushing away, apparently having landed on a corpse. Father took a few hurried steps towards them both “Are you both alright?” he demanded, his voice full of concern. 

 

His attention was momentarily taken up by Tony’s voice in his ear “Thor, you’ve got them?”

 

“Aye, they appear uninjured” he responded to Phills father, stepping forward and helping Phil up as he placed one hand on Signe’s shoulder. He looked them both over as Phil, still clearly shaken, managed to get to his feet. 

 

Signe wanted to respond, speak to her father, even nod, but her mind felt fogged, something blocking her clear thinking. He looked them over again, and she registered something amiss. He looked afraid, which was normal, but some of that fear was directed at _her_. She rubbed her arms, trying to let the sensation clear the fog in her mind. Phil spoke, dragging fathers attention off her, and it was an unexpected relief. “We’re ok. Signe…she…” Phills eyes dropped to the floor, some feet away, and Signe’s eyes followed.

 

It was a corpse, one of the men who’d been holding Phil. She stared blankly until realization started to dawn. There was still ice clinging to his face on ragged facial hair, and blistering at his wide-open eyes. Signe’d seen many corpses, and was familiar with the tendency of their faces to freeze in an expression like the one they’d had when they died. This ones face was full of horror, shock, and fear. His head hung on his limp neck at a slightly wrong angle, skin under the ice fractured by…by Signe’s hands. This man was her kill. 

 

She had killed someone. 

 

She stared blankly at the body, struggling to understand something she already knew. She heard her fathers voice, quiet and horrified “Signe, what have you done?”

 

The paralytic fog in her mind vanished and guilty panic took it’s place. Her head snapped around, meeting her fathers eyes, which he only now tore away from the dead man’s twisted face. Words bubbled out of her. “I- he…they were going to torture Phil, for information and I…he wouldn’t have been a hostage and…”

 

Most of the horror on her fathers face melted away to sympathy and love she somehow hadn’t expected. His voice was still soft, reassuring. “You were defending your brother. It was well done.” Her relief was profound, as though somehow she expected not to be forgiven this. She realized she was trembling some as her father circled one arm around her shoulders, hugging her close as he kept his other steady, strong hand on Phills shoulder. She buried her face against his chest, but it was difficult because of the armor, which smelled of ozone and guns and blood from the fight upstairs. She shut her eyes tight, unsure why there was still guilt eating away at her. She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she?

 

She bit back a childish little noise when father relaxed his grip, backing up a little to speak to her and and to Phil. “We should go. Meet the others. Come.” She nodded, Phil did the same. They followed him out of the room, but a few feet out he paused, looking back at the room they had just left with an expression Signe didn’t understand but made her feel sick. He swung Mjoiner once, and lightning arced from him, destroying the room, mostly concrete and not very flammable, but now shattered with ceiling falling in, burying the body in rubble. Hiding what she’d done. She was at once thankful and even more filled with guilt. She looked at Phil, whose solemn expression said he’d also understood her fathers wordless gesture. 

 

Hadn’t she done the right thing?

 

Father turned back towards her, and the frightened expression was back and once again fixed on her. But why? She had only killed one man- one man he surely would have killed himself if he’d been there sooner. A man any of the team would have killed, given the opportunity. Surely even Ms Potts would have done so, were it in her power. He hesitated, apparently compelled to speak, but yet silent. 

 

Phil nudged her gently. “Sig. Your face.” He murmured. His adrenaline from before was already wearing off, and he looked bone tired, head drooping forward. 

 

Gratitude and guilt flickered across her fathers face at Phills words. She looked down at her hands, still a deep, brilliant blue from before. It took her a moment, but she found the door inside that kept her other nature hidden away, and shut it firmly. The blue bled back up her arms, disappearing into the core of her, leaving the pale, familiar pink where it had fled. She looked back at her father, who was visibly soothed by her gesture. He led them the rest of the way out of the building, back to the team, to her family. Neither he nor Phil mentioned the man with ice-blistered, unseeing eyes buried in the building. She took her cue from them and remained silent. 

 

* * *

 

Thor walked by his daughters bedroom, glancing in, wanting again the reassurance that she was there, she was safe. And she was, sitting silently on her bed, head tilted down, eyes glazed and staring fixedly at nothing. The glassiness in her eyes alone would have been enough to frighten him, if it weren’t for the slight movement of her right hand, clenching and un-clenching slowly. He could imagine all to well what memory she was replaying. He took a step inside her room, but she must have noticed him already. She registered no surprise at his advance, only tilted her head away from him, just a breath, letting long dark locks obscure her face. 

 

She’d looked tired since the kidnapping. He knew she slept restlessly and not enough. Her face since then was full of shame and fear, and she hesitated to meet the eyes of her family. The sight of it at once filled him with shame that his own reaction had encouraged her to feel thus, and pride and relief at her feeling of guilt. 

 

Thors own first kill had been long, long ago. He’d let it slip from his mind, the shock at the recognition at what he’d done. Like Signe’s, it had been a killing well earned, and not anything to be ashamed of. A heroic action. His father, in his wisdom, had seen Thors revulsion and gone to him in private. Odin had praised him then, and praised his guilt. Thor remembered clearly his fathers quiet, measured tone telling Thor to treasure the pain in his breast, for it meant he respected life, and the tremendous burden to those who must take lives in order to save others. He’d told Thor that he was honor-bound to that guilt, that pain, for all the rest of his long life. 

 

But Thor had let himself forget. Let himself become too comfortable with killing and with taking lives. A costly mistake which had culminated in his attempt to break the spirit of the Joutens in a slaughter he’d later feel sharp shame for. 

 

He watched her, her fingertips moving, blue swirling slowly, glimmering in and out of view on her fingertips alone. She was so young- a maid of not yet thirteen. His guilt was added to by the fact she’d been put in such a position at so tender an age. Thor was young and impulsive when first he took a life, but still he’d been a man, fully grown. Signe was only a child. At least, she should be. His eyes wandered back down to her still slowly moving fingers, and he was grateful of the black curtain of her hair masking his flinch.

 

Even Loki had been horrified by the first time he’d taken a life. Thor had been there, when Loki’s knife had struck home in a would-be assassins breast, years of training flashing into service before Loki himself had had chance to consider them in full. Before Thor had had a chance to act. He remembered the wide-eyed fear on his brothers face as the assassin dropped to the floor, and the slow backwards step Loki had taken away from the blood pooling out under the corpse. If anything, he’d reacted more strongly than Thor, shutting himself in his room for a full day, refusing to see or speak to anyone, their father and mother included. Odin had been furious at Loki’s defiance. Loki was often thus, wishing to be alone with his thoughts before being willing to speak with others. Always he’d consulted his own mind before their father. When he had, at last, opened the door to speak with Odin, his eyes were red-rimmed, his lips tight, and his mind resolute. Thor had been left standing in the hallway as Odin entered Loki’s room, but swiftly he’d heard the conversation within as it rose in volume. 

 

From what he’d heard then, and from things both had said in years following, Odin had tried to say to Loki the same things he had said to Thor, but the conversation had ended very differently. Loki, already a day into his realization of the fact, had rejected the Allfathers words, claiming rightness and fairness and justification in his actions, and declaring himself free from guilt. Odin, fearing for the consequences of a prince of Asgard who felt no guilt at killing had insisted ever more strongly. Perhaps too forcefully, as he’d already been furious at Loki’s disobedience in choosing solitude rather than guidance. Loki had felt their father demanded penance and pain for an act that had saved his life, and was furious at the implications he felt such a demand made. Thor had tried, once he’d thought Loki was calmer, to clarify their fathers position, but Loki rejected this, claiming that the words their father had offered Thor, his treasured firstborn, were not the same offered to Loki. It was not the start of the rift between his father and brother, but it was a deep blow which both felt long after.

 

Now Thor watched his own stolen treasure, a mere child, caught in the feelings that had troubled both her father, and her father by birth. He did not know that he could do this better than Odin had, and hesitated to speak, lest he recreate Odins fight with Loki rather than the supportive talk Thor had experienced. Even if he could recreate his talk with his own father for his daughters sake, would that be enough? For all that Loki had caused the most destruction, it was Thor who had first sought to strike down a whole race. He watched her, trying to put his words in order, praying she would understand him, that this would not be the start of a rift between them. 

 

He kept his voice soft “Why will you not look at me?”

 

She did not move, save her fingers. “I’m just thinking.” She replied. Her tone bore no hostility. She sounded lost, and far away. Again she showed herself Loki’s child, consulting her own mind instead of seeking guidance. But Thor was not Odin, and she had not locked him out. 

 

“Will you hear me, first? Before reaching any conclusions?”

 

She did turn her head now, blinking her eyes and focusing on her surroundings, coming out of her head to attend to his words. Her face was troubled, but turned up towards him now without hesitation. He smiled at her, soothing hair back from her face. She had no need to hide from him, after all. But he kept his words plain. “You are thinking of the man you killed, is that right?”

 

He was gratified at her wince, she moved to look away from him, then, but he stilled her face with a finger under her chin. He did not want her to withdraw now. They both needed to face this. When he prevented her motion, she simply nodded, eyes half closed and not looking at Thor.

 

“You did the right thing, defended your brother against things he should not have been exposed to, especially so young.”

 

Her eyes flickered up towards him then, but only for a moment, checking for sincerity, doubting the truth of his words. She said nothing, and he continued.

 

“You feel guilty.” He stated, an invitation for her to confirm. Her eyes grew troubled, and she nodded. “Good.” He concluded. And at this her gaze snapped up, hurt and anger that could have grown to resentment and defiance in a heartbeat. For his part, he kept his expression open, and there was nothing but love for her there to see. Her pain transmuted to confusion as she studied his face. 

 

“Why should I feel guilty if I did the right thing?” she demanded. Thor didn’t allow himself to flinch from it, from the familiarity of the words. He tried to steel himself internally, not showing his fear that he had already ruined this beyond repair. 

 

“You feel guilty,” he started, keeping his voice soothing “because you bear the burden of a righteous warrior. Because you grieve the loss of a life, even an enemy whose life you were right to take.” Her confusion only deepened. Thor had never discussed this with her. He would have, and soon, in helping to prepare her to be the warrior she had always sought to be, only he’d thought he’d have more time…he tried again. “You feel guilty because you are good. Reveling in victory is a fine thing, but reveling in death, in the taking of lives….” Thor hesitated. He didn’t want to offer her hypocrisy. Thor himself felt alive in the fight, he sought out this life for himself. He also didn’t want to hand her an accusation, nor more guilt than was necessary. She was a clever, observant child, and every day Thor felt more challenged by her. Not by her attitude, but by her wit. Thor lacked Loki’s silver tongue, the ability to say things just so. Now he was faced with a child as keenly observant as his brother, and he felt ill equipped. “Signe, you must feel guilt at killing, even when it is right. Because to not do some disregards the value of all lives. This is a burden all warriors on the side of good must bear.”

 

She looked away again, but this time her eyes focused inwards, instead of merely off of Thor. She was thinking on his words, brows drawn together in solemn thought. He couldn’t tell what conclusions she was reaching, so he kept talking, no idea what else to do. “The pain you feel is necessary. But it will not always be as sharp as it is now. It’s a pain you need.” She did not move, nor did her expression change. He was not completely sure she still heard him. He tried a different tact. “You have learned much of first aide.” He stated, at this she nodded, eyes still focused inward. “Tell me, then. How does the worst burn feel?”

 

Her concentration deepend. “The worst burn doesn’t feel like anything. The nerves are too damaged.”

 

“Then if you are burned, it’s best to feel the pain. It means you are more whole than if you felt nothing.”

 

She was silent a moment, mind working furiously. Her hand had stopped it’s mindless remembered motions. She nodded, slowly, then ducked her head down. The intense concentration left her, and her shoulders tightened as she allowed the pain. It was more dramatic than he’d anticipated, but then, she was so young and trusted him so much. He’d told her to accept the pain, and so she had. It flooded her poor, youthful heart, and he almost regretted his actions. She was so full of such passions, she was bound to feel this too strongly as well. The first, rasping sob followed quickly, and he hurried to wrap his arm around her, gathering her close. She clung to his shirt, crying despairingly and he held on, touched and sorry and guilty for all his own reasons. 

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until a few days later that Signe, rolling the conversation around in her mind, started to see her fathers words in a new light. 

 

His words made sense, she understood them. But she wondered about whether there may be something else underneath them, in the layers of words that were never spoken between them. She knew that speaking of Loki wounded her father deeply, but sometimes this meant he spoke more obliquely than she’d have preferred. It left her to piece together his real intentions from a hundred sources, rather than his words alone.

 

The pieces of this puzzle were comprised of his words, but also his quiet horror at seeing her handiwork, and in the fear in his eyes when he saw her, blue tinted by her unspoken birthright, and in his destruction of the proof, covering her actions from the eyes of the team he considered his family on Midgaurd. Put together, the image was clear. He was worried she would take after her birth father, all violence and power-lust. He praised her guilt, afraid of her actions should she loose it. Well, that was fair. Killing without thought would create a monster in anyone. 

 

She knew she was young- too young to be killing. Not as young, she suspected, as Natasha had been, but still too young. Perhaps, like Phil, she was some kind of prodigy, though with a different specialty. A week ago the thought of being a prodigy at fighting would have thrilled her. Now that thrill was severely tempered with a sickness bourn from comparing herself to another who had a gift for killing. And at knowing her father made the same comparison. 

 

She breathed deeply, working to accept this. Her father looked at her with love. He never spoke of her birthright, never pushed her to acknowledge it even to him. His concern was bourn of that love, and was shown in his willingness to guide her. And still he encouraged her to train, to be a warrior, a guardian of Midgard. He did not try to seek to make her less dangerous. 

 

So, dangerous she would be. Dangerous and strong and loyal to her family. Just as her father was. She would not fear the pain or the guilt, only accept it as her due as a warrior. 


	8. Not Buying It.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's birth was far from ideal. Tony and toddler Phil try to help Steve cope.

 

Steve leaned his head on the glass of the window separating him and the neonatal unit, trying to stay objective. He let out a deep breath, and told himself it was stupid to feel guilty for being able to breathe comfortably when, a few scant feet away, his 4.7 lb. infant son was struggling to do the same.

He let his eyes flick up again to where little James lay, in a heated, controlled clear box, with wires going every which way, helping him, monitoring him. Taking care of the problems Steve could do exactly nothing about.

He should have known this would happen, or at least that it was likely. He’d let himself forget what a genetic disaster he was, in his natural, non-serum-enhansed state. And now, his tiny, helpless son was paying for his genetic deficits. He was underweight, early, his lungs weren’t fully developed yet. He had a heart murmur.

He reminded himself that the doctors had told him that his son would be ok. The boxes and tubes and glass separating him from Jamie were upsetting, but they were doing their job. He was living in a future where James was at much less risk than Steve had been, a long time ago. They could fix this.

He heard a set of soft, slow footsteps coming down the hall. He’d suspected that the rest of the team had been diverting the other parents and family on the floor away for a while, letting him have a little space to breathe and get his head on straight. The nurses came and went, carting off healthier children to visit with their families elsewhere. At least, he hoped so. He’d hate to think people were being kept from their kids for his sake.

He glanced up at the approaching footsteps. He was relived to see Tony approaching, carrying little Phil, who was half asleep, in one arm. He probably shouldn’t be relived to see Tony. The whole team had been not-so-subtly keeping the two of them apart since Pepper’d gone into labor. Divorce or no Tony was extremely attached to Pepper, and had made it clear over the course of the last several months that if she was hurt in the act of delivering Steve’s son into the world, Tony would be holding Steve personally accountable. Pepper had been furious at the implication, that she was some passive participant in the whole affair, but that hadn’t deterred Tony in the slightest. Steve didn’t take it personally. It was easier for Tony to be angry at him than at Pepper, and he’d been just as hard on himself two and a half years ago when Phil was born.

But God, he didn’t think he could handle any kind of fight with Tony right now. Pepper was ok, he’d already been up to see her, but he hadn’t seen Tony all day, and didn’t know if Tony was accepting Pepper and the Doctors claims that she was allright. And the truth was that Steve had missed Tony’s companionship desperately in the 5 months since the pregnancy had been known. Steve had no family very few friends and exactly one of them was a father already, and that was Tony. Well, he did have some family. He looked again at the fragile, tiny infant in the box on the other side of the glass.

He spared a little thought on listening to Tony’s approach. The footsteps were slow, soft and even. Not the steps of someone heading into a fight. And he could hear Tony talking, quietly, to little Phil as he got close. His voice was low, and quiet and much much sweeter than most of the world would ever hear from him.

"See? There he is." Tony continued, a few feet from Steve "What do you think of that, huh? That makes you a big brother now."

It was petty, and uncomfortably close to cowardice, but Steve didn’t even turn his head to look at them. Tony was being gentle and soft for Phills sake, but that didn’t mean he should expect the same treatment. Even though Pepper had broken up with Steve, Tony clearly saw him as some kind of competitor. Even with Pepper out of danger, there was no reason to think Tony had forgiven him for dating his ex in the first place. If it weren’t for James, he’d have very little but regret for having even tried dating Pepper.

Phills voice piped up sleepily. "In a box." He said, sounding confused and somehow slightly affronted with his toddlers voice.

Tony answered, as if Steve wasn’t there. Neither father nor son had acknowledged Steve’s presence. He wasn’t sure whether it was a kindness or a slight, but either way, he didn’t make a move to change it. "Well, yeah. He’s in a box. He’s…sort of sick."

"Sick?" Phil asked, less sleepy now. He’d been a big brother for all of an hour and already he sounded concerned for James’s wellbeing. It was enough to choke Steve up, since he was on the verge of it already.

Tony continued to focus on Phil "Uh. Sort of. Ok, so, little James there- let’s call him Jamie- he’s a lot like your mommy.You know how she always likes to be early to everything? And he got here so early that he’s extra little. He hasn’t had time to grow yet. He’s so little that he doesn’t really know how to breathe yet. That box is helping him learn to breathe better. Ok?" Tony was still struggling to explain things in terms young kids (or anyone without advanced degrees in physics, such as Steve) could understand. Pepper said he actively practiced it. It sounded like the practice was paying off. Steve didn’t hear any answer, so presumably Phil had answered nonverbally.

There was a pause, and Tony continued. "But there he is. Your little brother, huh? That’s pretty cool. Even I don’t have one of those. Whaddaya think. Cute, huh?"

"No" little Phil replied, with no malice or irritation, just typical toddler frankness. Steve quashed the urge to speak up for Jamie. Phil was two years old and naturally wouldn’t understand that newborns are supposed to look like, especially pale, unhappy, small newborns.

Tony laughed uncomfortably. "Sure he is. Look, who do you think he looks more like, your mom or Steve?"

There was a considering pause before Phil answered. "Baby piggy." He said, with calm assuredness.

Tony made a choking sound. " _You_ are a completely urban child. You have never in your life been to a farm. You haven’t ever even seen a baby pig."

"innernet." Phil responded, managing a tone that made it clear he thought his father was being thick.

Tony made another noise Steve couldn’t identify but sounded uncomfortable to make. "Look, it’s not polite to say your baby brother looks like a pig. You’ll make Steve and your mom sad."

"Baby piggy." Phil answered more stubbornly. "I like baby piggy." He concluded with finality.

"Christ." Tony muttered.

Steve finally turned his head to look at Tony, who was looking at him with a shrug and a wry apology on his face. Steve managed a tired half-smile. He’d been around young kids more than Tony- enough to know that "baby piggy" could just as likely be a compliment as anything else coming from a kid Phills age. And hearing Tony try to beckpedal for a toddlers tactlessness to spare Steve’s feelings reassured him that it was safe to engage. Tony was looking at him sideways, looking legitimately nervous and very, very tired. 

Steve must not have looked much better because Tony looked no less nervous after catching a second of eye contact. He kept talking to Phil. “Look, see? Steve’s sad.”

Phil leaned his head back and blinked at Steve half upside down. He threw up one determined little hand and flapped his fingers at Steve in a wave. Steve managed something smile like for him in return. “Hi, buddy.”

Phil continued to peer at Steve upside down with a shaggy mop of dark curls falling away from his face. “Your sad?” he enquired seriously.

Steve hesitated over how to respond to that. He didn’t want to upset Phil, but if he tried to act fine he didn’t think even a two year old would buy it. He looked back at James again. How to explain this? How do you explain to a little kid that when you see his new baby brother you keep remembering old asthma attacks and the panicked, helpless feeling of not being able to get in enough air to function, being lightheaded and vulnerable, and feeling guilty for passing on that horrible feeling to his only family member, a sick, endangered infant who couldn't understand.

“I-“ he started, and cut himself off, rather that let his voice sound that tight and pained in front of Phil. He swallowed, tried to relax his throat. He tried again, this time his voice was a little closer to normal, at least not obviously painful. “I think James- Jamie is sad. So that makes me sad.”

He glanced back at Phil and Tony to see how that was received. Phills expression had all the somberness and seriousness an upside-down two year old could muster. Tony was looking at Steve, bouncing Phil a little bit, absently, his expression caught between guilt and sympathy. His eyes darted away, so it looked like guilt was winning.

“Jamie’s sad? Jamie and Steve?” Phil asked, to clarify.

“Yeah. But I’m ok.” 

Phil’s serious expression turned to an honest-to-god disapproving pout, an adorable little unintentional parody of an expression he’d seen on Tony from time to time. Tony glanced up at him. “don’t think he’s buying it, Cap.” And clearly, neither was Tony. Tony looked back down at Phil, Who righted his head to look at Tony “You buying it? Think he’s ok?” Phil shook his head vigorously. They were properly in cahoots now.

Steve loved this. He wondered if Tony knew how much Steve loved watching him be a father to Phil. Maybe he was doing it to try to cheer Steve up. 

Steve _had_ hoped that the jealousy he used to feel watching the two of them would dry up now Jamie was here. His own child to interact with, to talk to, to hold. Well, once he was actually allowed to hold him. Once he could without making Jamie's breathing turn from uncomfortable to dangerous. Just as soon as there wasn’t several feet of glass or plastic between them.

“What do you think we should do about it?” Tony asked Phil, pretending to the seriousness Phil’s earnest little face was offering up.

Phil thought “Show him Spongebob.” He concluded, wisely. And this, at least, was a pop culture reference Steve knew. He’d spent enough time around Phil to be familiar with the shrieking cartoon, and had been comforted that none of the other adults around could fathom it’s appeal either. Tony’s brief flicker of alarm confirmed that Tony was at least invested enough in Steve’s mental wellbeing not to subject them both to that.

“I don’t think the Captain wants to watch tv right now. And that would be too loud for a hospital. Any other ideas?”

“Present?” Phil suggested.

“I’m ok-“ Steve protested, embarrassed by the attention, even if it’s intention was one he appreciated to no end.

Tony wasn’t having any of that. “Rogers, do you mind? we’re brainstorming here.” He addressed Phil again. “I’m on board with that, but I don’t have anything on hand, and I think we need something now. Got anything on you that would work?”

Phil plunged a tiny hand into an overall pocket, digging around, and came up with half a crayon, some goldfish crackers that had seen better days, and some kind of mechanical joint piece.

He looked up at Tony, waiting for an appraisal of his treasures. Tony’s free hand immediately collected up the cracked and now slightly waxy and blue goldfish crackers. “Ok, well these are going in the garbage, since we don’t want him or you getting food poisoning.” He said, but he stuffed the tainted snacks into his own expensive suit pocket, rather than walk the maybe 6 feet to the nearest garbage can. Phil scowled slightly and tucked the rest of his trinkets back in his pocket. 

Phil stuck his chin out stubbornly “You give one.” He retorted. 

Tony raised an eyebrow, amused, and Steve wondered again if Tony was trying to entertain or distract Steve with this. “Me? Haven’t got anything on me. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting to do this today, and the gift shop here is pathetic.”

“This” Phil said, pointing at the watch Tony was wearing. Steve didn’t know a lot about current watch fashions, but just based on the fact Tony was wearing it, he suspected it cost a lot more than he was comfortable wearing.

But Tony looked up at him calmly, big dark eyes utterly without resistance. “Steve, want my watch?” 

“What? No, guys, thank you, but please, no presents. Not for me, anyways. Really, I’m fine.” He said, hand up in protest.

“He doesn’t want my watch, agent. We’re running out of options, here.”

Phil looked up at him, stubbornness replaced by genuine concern that bit at Steve and made him feel guilty. Worse when he realized that Tony was veiling a similar concern of his own. “Really, I’m fine. Thank you. I’ll just…feel better when James is a little more stable.” And it felt like a confession, even though there was nothing of new information in what he was saying.

Tony watched him a moment more before craning his head just slightly to address the still worried looking Phil without looking at him. “Hey, remember what Pepper asked for when she said she was worried about your little brother? To make her feel better?”

Phil looked at Tony, mind flicking over the recent memory before twisting suddenly in Tony’s arms and flinging his own arms out at Steve in a gesture that confused him momentarily.

“Don’t leave him hanging.” Tony told him, and Steve processed the pose.

He smiled, maybe a little weakly, and reached over to scoop Phil into his arms. The boy immediately wrapped his small arms around Steve's neck for a tight, sure hug which Steve returned, much more carefully, closing his eyes. For all that Tony pretended to brash, unobservant social interactions, he was completely on-the-nose with Steve more often than not. Steve wouldn’t have even thought to ask for this, even standing there seeping in his own jealousy.

Because it wasn’t really jealousy, was it? It was longing. He had a kid of his own now, but the bittersweet pang he felt watching these two was utterly undiminished, and he had a sneaking suspicion that even once he could hold James, could talk to him and with him, that this wasn’t going to go away. If anything, it felt like it was going to get stronger.

He rocked Phil just a little, it was way past his bedtime, then looked at Tony, who was smiling sentimentally and maybe a little smugly. Which was fair. Steve could forgive him that. And yeah, that smile on Tony’s face immediately made that feeling in his chest flare brighter.

He didn’t just want what Tony had. He wanted Tony. He wanted Tony, and Tony with Phil, and to give them both to Jamie. He wanted to wrap them up like one little family. And Pepper to- she was such a great mom, his heart just melted watching her with Phil. He’d not even been able to see her with Jamie yet. But Pepper…she was different. He’d always known they couldn’t last together. Worse, he’d been ok with it. He adored her, he did, and was proud to be raising a child with her, even if the circumstances would have given his mother a fit if she’d known about it.

But Tony…watching him with Phil…watching him be the parent Steve knew he’d been afraid he wouldn’t know how to be, that sight always socked him right in the center of his chest. It wasn’t even longing. It was love.

Damn it, it was love. And he knew it. He tried not to know it. There were a hundred things wrong with that and nothing plausible and on top of worrying about Jamie it was just too much. He buried his face in Phills artificial-grape scented hair, squeezing his eyes shut and not looking at Tony.

Because this was fine. Jamie would be ok. Steve would be able to hold him soon and he’d learn to breathe. And for now he had little Phil clinging to him and Tony worrying about him and Pepper so willing to work with him and the whole team supporting him and Pepper and their new son. It wasn’t like he was alone anymore. He was supported and cared about.

And if he couldn’t give Jamie Tony as a second, very modern sort of father, Tony would still always be part of his life. All of the people Steve had around him now would be part of his life. He couldn’t fix his breathing, not now at least and not on his own, but he could at least take partial credit for this. For bringing Jamie into a larger network which he’d gathered wasn’t too common anymore. It might not quite be a family, but it wasn’t too far off, and every one in it was worth their weight in gold as far as Steve was concerned.

He noticed Phil shift against him, settling in. He looked about ready to go back to sleep again, and didn’t seem to mind doing so right where he was. His drowsy, big blue eyes with Tony’s long black lashes gazed back across the room to where Jamie and his box and his wires lay. Steve smiled down at him. He looked back at Tony, who had his hands behind his back, and seemed perfectly content to let Phil drop off right where he was. He was smiling, warmly, comfortingly, and Steve felt much of his anxiety from earlier fall off him. He told the pang in his heart that everything would be ok. That even not perfect, he had everything he needed here.

Tony put on hand on Steve's shoulder and looked through the glass with him at Jamie, seeming almost a little proprietary himself. Another welcome change from the bristling and twitchiness of the past few months. Steve smiled his thanks.


	9. Not As I Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's 95% sure he's being paranoid when he's afraid Pepper will reject Phil with Jamie on the way. But damn this kid is a handfull.

Tony hated it whenever he caught himself being paranoid. Being unfair. Suspecting things about people he didn't want to be suspicious of. But when Pepper, exhausted, angry and clearly reaching the end of her rope had called Tony and demanded he get downstairs _right now_ to come deal with _his son_ he had to choke down a number of what he was at least 95% sure were unfair suspicions about Pepper. Pepper wasn’t Maria. Wasn’t Howard. Just because she needed an occasional break from their son didn’t mean she was tired of him, or didn’t want him around anymore. Didn’t mean she was going to stop loving him. It meant she was tired and pregnant and just needed a break. He didn’t need to look into it any further than that. Really.

 

And just because Tony had cringed when he’d walked into Peppers place, just because he was also tired and wanted to rest and not deal with this, it didn’t mean he was Howard.

 

Tony wasn't Howard. But sometimes he wondered if Phil was Tony. Tony didn't remember being two, but he’d heard about it. How he’d worn his parents out, ground them down, driven them away with his constant running and taking things apart and refusal to stay put. The time he’d slipped away from a nanny at the nearby park and made it home in time to open and empty every single drawer and cubbord in the house before they’d found him. The time he’d got behind the fridge and started dismantling it without turning it off or letting anyone know he was back there.  The time he’d managed to get to the house fusebox. The list was endless, a parade or horror stories passed down from nanny to nanny across the years. Those he remembered, just like he remembered the words muttered by Maria to try to explain to her friends why she spent to little time around her son, why he was at boarding school as early as possible, and with 24 hour a day nanny care when he was at the house. Howard didn't bother with telling stories, he wasn't one for dwelling on the past.  He let his actions speak for him.

When he got to Peppers place Phil had dismantled most of the vacuums bot all over the kitchen and part of the hall. Every part a two year old with an average grip but a startling understanding of leverage could take apart was taken apart. There was no point in asking him why. Tony knew why. He had an innate understanding of why. And Pepper had an understanding of Tony, so she didn’t ask why either. What she did do was storm out, tired eyes flashing and few words for Tony or Phil, declaring that she needed a _break_ and that she did not want anyone calling her for the next several hours.

 

Tony looked at the vacuums parts all over the floor, and decided _fuck it_ he wasn’t dealing with that mess right now. He plucked Phil, shrieking his protest, out of the center of the pile, and carried him upstairs to Tony’s apartment. It was petty. It was making things worse. It was a quiet little vengeance he knew he could get away with. And, it was a way of avoiding noticing the fresh paint smell coming from the new nursery.

 

Phil continued to squirm, bat at Tony with his hands, and shout at Tony the whole trip upstairs, furious at being denied access to his freshly dismantled toys. Tony did his best to ignore it. Once in his own very new apartment he deposited the shrieking little gremlin on the couch somewhat unceremoniously. Phil immediately bounced up, feet on the floor and ready to run. Tony was ready and snagged him by his shirt collar. He picked him up under his arms and put him back on the couch, this time not letting go. He knelt down in front of Phil, holding on, but Phil kept squirming.

Tony hated this. _Hated it._ Hated watching Phil make every mistake Tony had made when he was small. Hated having no idea how to do better than his own parents had at making him stop. Hated knowing that the kidnapping and the divorce and so many other things that made Phil worse were his fault, in the end. Phil was too fast, too loud, too curious, too fearless. A tiny, destructive hurricane. Just exactly like Tony had been. Doing everything Tony had done to wear out his welcome with his own parents, teachers, nannies, tutors. Pepper. No matter how many times he told himself otherwise, every time Phil caused problems Tonys heart seized up, worrying that Pepper would get tired of Phil. Worse, that even Tony would get tired of Phil. He didn't trust himself in a relationship like this. He'd never had one that lasted as long as this was supposed to.

 

He looked at the little boy squirming in his grip.  It wasn't helpful but it was the only thing he could think to do. “Phil. _Phil._ Stop it. Quit that. Now what the hell did you think you were doing? You know the rule. Whats the rule?” Phil avoided eye contact, pushing at Tony’s hands. Tony gave a small shake, trying to get Phills attention. “ _Whats the rule?_ ”

 

Phil screwed his little face up in a pout of a snarl. _“Ask first!”_ he shouted, still shoving, trying to get out of Tony’s hands. The words weren’t an admission of guilt or understanding. He was just trying to get Tony to let him go. A defiantly attempted “open sesame”

 

Tony didn’t let go “Then why did you do that? You know the rules! What is so hard about that?” It was a stupid question. A pointless question that only served to frustrate them both. Phil wouldn’t be able to answer. Tony’d been asked that question countless times over his life time, and it’s many iterations.

 

_Why can’t you just follow the rules?_

_Why can’t you just listen?_

_Why can’t you act like the others?_

_What is wrong with you?_

And Tony never had been able to answer. Not really. Instead he’d built his life up where he could answer with sheer bravado. Words that were his most honest lies.

 

_Because I don’t have to._

_Because I’m smarter than you._

_Because I’m better than them._

And the last question, what was wrong with him, he never had to answer at all. He’d just smile. A cocky grin to say that whatever was wrong with him, even his faults, were things others should envy.

 

Phil didn’t try to answer. He didn’t have any pat response to give. What he did have was a tiny fist shoving Tony away, and distracting him from the tiny foot that barreled into his chest, connecting with the constantly thin skin around the reactor. It caught Tony by surprise and he made the mistake of letting go.

 

Phil bolted off the couch and down the hall.

 

Tony sat back on his heels, rubbing his chest and exhaling heavily. He needed reinforcements. He pulled out the phone.

**If anyone wants the jet working by the end of the week, they should get over here for emergency babysitting duty STAT.**

He filled in the "to" field. Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Thor, and he hesitated. A year ago, he would have just texted Steve. Not even needed to bother with the others. But he hadn’t seen Steve off duty in almost two months. Phil adored Steve. Well, _everybody_ adored Steve, didn’t they? With his stupid awkward charm and his stupid perfect body and his stupid toothpaste ad smile and his stupid sweet, gentle way of handling kids. And women. And Pepper.

 

He hit send. Fuck Steve.

 

He got up to try and find Phil. Tony’s unit in the tower, his personal unit, not the areas he opened up for any of the team to visit, weren’t all that big, at least by Tony’s standards. He found Phil pretty fast, in the back of Tony’s closet, digging through accessory boxes for some godforsaken reason. Phil looked up at him, warily, one hand in a box of socks. Well, fuck it. They were socks. The watches were kept more securely. He exhaled. “Fine. Just…don’t take anything apart.”

 

Phil looked at him, evaluatingly, and pushed some sox out of the box, watching Tony carefully for a response. Tony rolled his eyes, sighed, and walked away. Phil stayed put in the closet. Tony’s phone beeped.

 

**NR: Is Pepper ok?**

Tony wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Sure, she’s fine, she’s just sick of everyone in my gene pool.” Or “She’s perfectly fine, just abandoned her son.” Or “No big deal, she’s just traded up again.”

 

He kicked himself, internally. No. He couldn’t afford to get that bitter about Pepper. That would not go well for him. He needed her. It didn’t matter that she’d divorced him, citing the Avengers as a reason, then turned around and dated fucking _Steve_ for three months then broken _his_ heart while telling him she was having his son. A new son. One that wouldn’t dismantle toasters or vacuums cleaners. He’d probably be sweet and soft-spoken and affectionate, and brilliant in the way that didn’t leave a trail of destruction in his wake. Tony shook his head. He was _not_ going to start a fight here.

 

**Just needed some time off. Probably nauseous or something.**

He pushed at his mind again, trying to make it conform to what he needed it to be. Pepper loved Phil. And what happened with Steve wasn’t his business, because they were already divorced. And she didn’t even really leave. Tony just had to settle the fuck down and not rock the boat. The phone beeped again.

 

**Clint: I can swing by for a couple hours.**

That caught Tony by surprise. He knew Clint had babysat Phil before- notably directly after the divorce when Tony was…not doing so hot. But he actually didn’t come by all that often. Tony always sort of meant to spend more time with the guy, he just wasn't good at getting around to it. Tony shrugged and answered.

 

**You know where to find us.**

 

He shoved the phone back in his pocket, and debated whether to even try getting any work done till backup arrived. He leaned back to look down the hall to his bedroom. Some socks sailed out of the closet, and Tony rolled his eyes again. For the moment, things were quiet. He’d better take advantage of that while he could.

 

 

* * *

 

As soon as Clint was in the private elevator that could get him up to the top, residential floors of Stark Tower, Jarvis’s cool voice informed him that Tony and Phil were at Tony’s place, not Peppers.“How’r they doing up there, Jarvis?” He asked. Tony always made fun of the rest of the team for looking up when talking to the AI, but fuck it. Jarvis never complained. 

 

“I don’t believe the national guard will be required quite yet.” Clint smirked. He didn’t think he could live with an omniscient robot monitoring his vitals and actions every minute of the day, but he had to admit that there was something indelibly cool about a robot butler. Especially one as sarcastic as Jarvis. 

 

Not great news, tho. 

 

It wasn’t exactly that Clint didn’t trust Tony with his son. Not _exactly_. He was just generally suspicious of people, and especially people with kids around them. Especially isolated, weird kids like Phil. And especially if those people drank too much and were under a hell of a lot of stress and angry at that kids mom. 

 

He pushed air out of his lungs. He’d seen Tony be incredibly sweet around Phil. Attentive and caring and protective. He had zero doubt in him that Tony cared about his son. But even Tony had no confidence in his ability to be a decent parent, and Tony tended to think he could do _anything_ so that looked to Clint like a bad sign. He’d been there, the day Phil was born. Giving a little extra coverage in case any baddies tried to hit them while Pepper was vulnerable. While Tony was vulnerable. He’d heard Tony freaking out in front of Steve. Saying he couldn’t do this. That he was going to be a disaster of a father. 

 

The elevator door opened on Tony’s place, but he couldn’t immediately see either of them. 

 

What he _heard_ was a crash, ending with a terrified little kids wail, and then Tony shouting, cussing a blue streak, ending with _“God fucking damn it what is wrong with you?”_

 

Phil came sprinting around the corner, one hand clamped over the side of his head and crying. He tripped, and went sprawling across the floor, still wailing. 

 

Every alarm in Clints head went off at once, and he almost reached for the knife in his boot. His split second of indecision was long enough for Tony, hands in fists and every muscle of his arms and shoulders pulled tight, to round the corner after Phil. He was furious. He didn’t even seem to notice Clint standing there in plain sight. Phil was struggling to his feet, one hand still holding his head and still crying like the world was ending. Tony lunged for him, and Clint made up his mind. 

 

Clint was faster than Tony- a lot faster. He had Tony pinned on his stomach before Tony registered that Clint was in the room with them. Clint heard a _crack_ as the reactor hit the marble floor through Tony’s shirt, but knew better than to worry something like that would damage it. The landing knocked the breath out of Tony as Phil shrieked. Clint kept his own voice a low growl. _“Don’t you touch him”_

 

Tony tried to roll Clint off him, but it was way too late for that, Clint had him down hard. He caught a glint of panic in Tony’s eye as Tony tried to get a look at him. When he did, he froze momentarily then pushed back harder but less cautiously. _“Barton?_ What the hell are you doing?”

 

Clint didn’t move “Keeping you from making a big mistake.”

 

Tony pushed back again, but more as a signal than an actual attempt at martial arts. “What the fu-“ he was interrupted by a thump-crack noise as a a glass tumblr landed on the floor several feet behind them. Clint turned to look. Phil was standing, carrying as many of the glasses as he could with one small arm, readying another in his right hand. He lobbed another one at the two of them, trying for a projectile but coming up short with a toddlers muscle and aim. Still, he’d managed to make sure he was out of Clint’s line of sight before taking the first shot, which was impressive in it’s own way.

 

Clint looked at Phil, still plainly terrified, and pale, but just managing to stand his ground. “Which of us are you throwing at?”

 

Phil glowered, stomping a foot. “Go away!” He was clearly glaring at Clint through tear filled eyes.

 

Tony shoved again. “Barton! Get off me! I need to-“ Clint got off, willing to see where this was going, provided he was still close by.Tony didn’t even give him a second thought, just shoved him out of the way and zeroed in on Phil. Phills rage at Clint was immediately forgotten, and his eyes widened at Tony closed in, dropping the rest of the glasses. Clint’s gut clenched at the look on his face, and he wound up for another interception if need be.

 

Tony grabbed Phil roughly by his thin little shoulders, gave him a firm shake. “Do _not._ Do _not_ do that again. Do you hear me? I swear to god, if you do that one more time-“ Phills face crumpled, and a high, quiet wail started again. Tony’s face twitched. “Don’t-“ he paused as Phil started bawling. “No.” Phil put one hand to the same spot in his hair he’d been clutching before, and tried to push Tony away. Clint stood, ready to intervene. “ _Fuck.”_ Tony concluded. His expression flickered again, and he sighed, his shoulders slumping. Clint didn’t relax yet. Tony could change moods in a heartbeat. But when Tony spoke again his voice was quieter, not quite gentle but not yelling either. “Damn it. Here, let me see that.” He said, pulling on Phills wrist where he was holding his head.

 

“No!” Phil shouted, not a bit quieter, but he was small and Tony was big and had no trouble moving Phills hand. 

 

“Is it hurt? Hm? Let me see it. No, stop it. Let me see.” Phil was still crying. “Yeah. It hurts, huh? Thats why you don’t do that.” 

 

Clint ground his teeth. “What’d he do?”

 

Tony spared him a brief glance. Apparently concerned with tending the injury, at least. The fact that he seemed to think it needed attention was doing nothing to turn off those alarms in Clints head. “He pulled a damn shelf down on his head, trying to climb it. It couldn’t hold the weight.” Clint felt a flicker of welcomed doubt. “Jarvis, help me out here?”

 

“Nothing more than a bruise, sir. Beyond that he seems to be fine.”

 

Tony closed his eyes, still not letting go of Phil.Tonys shoulders relaxed and he pulled Phil forward into a tight but careful hug. “Don’t do that. Ok? It hurts, so don’t do it.”

 

Phil stopped fighting, going still for a second. Clint couldn’t see his face. Then he started crying again, loud and unrestrained, for no apparent reason. This didn’t seem to confuse Tony, who just hugged him a little tighter, kissed the top of his head. “I know. I know. Falling is scary, huh? Teach you to fly when you’re older.” And now Clint could see Phil clinging to Tony. He was crying because he _wanted_ Tony’s attention. Clint had a sinking feeling he’d been a complete jackass a minute ago. Tony continued ignoring Clint, lifting Phil up with a muttered comment about an ice pack.

 

Clint debated what to do as Tony dug an ice pack out for Phil. He stood there, awkwardly, waiting for the other shoe to drop and trying to figure out what the hell he was going to say to Tony. Tony finally glanced back at him once he had a gel icepack on Phills head. “Clint’s gonna watch you for a few hours while I get some work done. I’ll still be in the apartment, but I’ve got to get the jet ready for fabrication and finish the diagnostics.” Phil shot Clint a venomous glare, and Tony frowned. “Quit it. You like Clint.”

 

Phil still glared. “No.”

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do. You like Clint. He’s got less common sense than you do. You get along. He’ll play race car driver with you.” 

 

OK, so Tony wasn’t kicking him out. And apparently they weren’t having this discussion right now, either. Which suited Clint fine. Crap, he felt like such an ass. But was it really such a wrong interpretation to make under the circumstances? He couldn’t tell how angry Stark was. Clint stepped forward towards Phil. “You wanna play race car driver, kiddo?”

 

“No.” Crap. Phills eyes narrowed stubbornly. “Captain America.” Clint was sure he didn’t imagine the flicker of irritation on Tony’s face. 

 

“Ok. We can play Captain America.” Clint answered smoothly. Phil gave Clint one more appraising look, then checked Tony, who had erased the irritation off his face and smiled blandly. Phil relaxed and handed the icepack back to Tony, who set it on the counter, then set Phil back on the ground. Phil took off running towards the couch as soon as his feet hit the floor, ignoring them both and hauling pillows off the couch. Tony made no move to object. “…That’s playing Captain America?”

 

“He’s making a building to save people out of. It’s probably going to be on fire.”Tony answered. “I’ll be in the office.” And with that, Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled off back down the hall. 

 

Clint and Phil played Captain America, and airplane, and eventually race car driver. Clint ignored the glasses on the floor for a while, until Phil almost tripped over one. Then he gathered them up, and put them all away except for the one that had chipped when he’d thrown it at Clint, trying to protect Tony from him. Clint kept part of his mind on the unstoppable windmill of motion that was Phil Pots Stark, and part of it on what had happened. At one point he asked Phil to show him where he’d fell, just to check. And yeah, there was a broken shelf just in Phills reach. There were also clothes and shoes scattered all over the closet door. Clint suggested they be sorting robots and sort all the clothes back where they belonged and was surprised when Phil agreed enthusiastically. Clint didn’t know if Phills insistence that he knew where everything went was part of the game or actual memory, but it got things at least off the floor, and gave Clint a plausible reason for being in the absurdly sized closet to double check Tony’s story. 

 

Eventually Phills games got less frantic, and focused more on talking. Clint offered him a snack, and he fell asleep on the couch, apple slices still in his lap. Clint flicked on the tv, volume low, to wait out Phills nap. 

 

Ten minutes in, Tony reappeared, looking worried. “It’s quiet. Why-“ he stopped at the hallway entrance. “You got him to nap?” Tony walked towards them, eyes on Phil. “How did you do that? What, did you use ether or something? He’s out cold.”

 

Clint raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. “Just nodded off. Pretty normal for a kid his age.”

 

“Maybe.But not for Phil. You sure you didn’t give him something?”

 

“Not unless you put something in your apples.”

 

“Huh.” Tony sat down on the couch, on the opposite side of Phil from where Clint sat. Awkward silence prevailed. Tony shifted, leaning back, limbs loose. “So. You wanna tell me why you felt it was necessary to go all MMA on me?”

 

Clint shifted letting his discomfort show. How the hell to put something like this? “Well, you have to admit it looked bad from where I was standing.”

 

Tony made a noncommittal but not pleased noise. “So, naturally, _you_ figured-“ but Tony trailed off. Neither of them wanted to say it. 

 

“Sorry.” Clint said. He mostly meant it. He could tell Tony was pissed. “Look, it’s not like…not like I didn’t think you’d regret it.” Tony still wasn’t talking, just clamping his jaw shut tight, staring at the other end of the room. Tony too pissed to talk couldn’t be a good sign. Fuck. Tony was already on the outs with Rogers, Clint didn’t really want to add more argument to the team. “Well, you’re not at your best lately, ok? Sometimes people do stupid shit when they’re not at their best.”

 

“Like hit their two year old children.” Tony supplied, with mock graciousness. 

 

“Like punch their best friend in the face.” Clint added. 

 

Tony didn’t quite suppress a wince. “Rogers can take it. Probably barely even felt it.”

 

“Tony, he’s _still_ sulking about it.” 

 

Tony failed even worse at suppressing this wince. “Still pretty different.” 

 

Clint sighed silently. “Yeah.” Clint looked down at Phil. The kid was a hurricane. If there was a box, drawer, or door he wanted it open. If there was something too high for him to see, he wanted to climb it. If it could be stacked or taken apart, he was all over it. Clint actually found his unrestrained impulsiveness endearing, and reassuring. He was pretty damn near fearless. Still. “He’s a hell of a handful.”

 

That got a response. Tony’s posture turned openly hostile in an instant, even the pretense of niceties gone. “Youknow what? Just go. Fuck the jet, the rest of you can just walk or ask Thor for a piggyback ride. Phil doesn’t need to be around someone with that attitude.”

 

That had turned off someplace fast. “Attitude? What, being protective of him?”

 

“Is that what you call that? Figuring that I’d hit Phil because he’s a handful? That’s protective?”

 

“Yeah, I call that protective.” Clint countered. 

 

Tony kept his voice low, not waking Phil, but it was getting angrier by the word. “Phil is _better than that._ And that is…that whole attitude is just-“

 

“I wasn’t criticizing _Phil_.” Clint shot back in equally quiet, equally angry tones. It was meant to be a challenge. If Phil got hit, Clint knew damn well who he would blame, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the toddler.

 

But when Tony jerked back at the accusation he seemed startled but actually _less_ angry. Clint could practically see Tony recalibrating, realizing he’d just implied that it would be Phills fault. “It- what? No. Of course.” Incredibly unconvincing. 

 

Clint had felt like an ass earlier, now he wasn’t so sure that that was warranted. “You know he’s two, right? Running around tearing things apart…that’s how they’re _supposed_ to act.” His mind was already ten steps ahead. If Tony didn’t get this, how likely was he to hurt Phil? Or James, once he got here. Who the hell would be able to intervene if things headed that way? Pepper or other Avengers, and that was about it. He wondered if Pepper would…

 

Tony was leaning back, watching him. His tone got the high, light tone it did when he knew he’d been caught at something. “Yeah. I know.” 

 

“Didn’t sound like it.” He leveled his most piercing stare at Tony.

 

Tony ran a hand over his face, switching gears again, silent for a moment. “It wasn’t what it sounded like. I- just…you said he was a handful, and that you thought I’d feel bad and it sounded like _you_ were- Fuck, look, I’m not gonna hurt Phil. Not without alien mind-control tech or something involved, and don’t think that particular nightmare hasn’t occurred to me.”

 

Clint kept staring. It unbalanced people, made them tip their hand more often than it should. Tony looked back at him, trying to scrutinize him, but it didn’t look like he was getting real far with it. He tried again. “I thought you were saying it’d be his fault.” He clarified. He watched Clint again, but Clint kept his expression immobile. Tony gave up on understanding Clints expression and looked down at Phil, running one hand through his hair over the bump. 

 

Tony leaned back against the couch, not looking up or drawing his hand away from Phills head. His voice turned quiet, regretful. “He’s not an easy kid to love.” Clints eyes narrowed, but Tony wasn’t looking at him. “And that’s..” Tony sighed, tilting head head back over the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s probably not going to change any time soon.”

 

“Why stick around, then?” If that was how Tony felt, it would be better for Pepper to make another try at her own tower. 

 

Tony lifted his head, giving him the look he gave when he was stymied and baffled by other peoples stupidity, or at least, stupidity as Tony saw it. He opened his mouth, closed it, blinked, and set his head back down. “I don’t even know how to answer that.” He looked back down at Phil, and there was that look of regret again. After a long silence, his voice was softer again. “He’s too much like me. Even if I wanted to give Pep the space she wanted, for safety. Even if I keep screwing with his life…he needs someone around who gets it. Gets him. I can do that, at least. And that’s something.”

 

Clint looked at Phil. Before the divorce, he wouldn’t necessarily have thought of Phil as being a whole lot like his dad. Curious, sure, and smart, but not much past that. But after seeing Tony stripped down to his most stubborn, ingrained instincts when he thought he had driven off his family… the impulsivity, recklessness, neediness, total inability to sit still when he was upset, the desire to bury himself in learning and understanding when he was off balance, the hatred of sleep and rest, the driven, insatiable restlessness… maybe he could see it. Actually, Phills response to the divorce wasn’t that different from Tony- breaking things, demanding back the person he was missing, pushing away anyone who tried to console him, except…except Steve, actually. And both Phil and Tony were still riding out some of those changes.  

 

Clint let the silence stretch out. He licked his lips, eventually. “Think you can do better than that.”

 

Tonys smile was rueful. “Hopefully. But I’m sure Howard and Maria expected to do better than they did, to. So, we’ll see.”

 

“Tony Stark isn’t satisfied with how he turned out?”

 

Tony huffed a humorless laugh. “Well, I just got mistaken for an abusive parent, so it’s possible I’m not doing this quite right. Certainly a little short on role models.” Tony’s piss poor relationship with his father at least was no new information. Clint had wondered about it sometimes. He knew there wasn’t a lot of warmth there, and that there was a lot of resentment, and a lot of distance. He wondered how far it went. 

 

Clint didn’t want to try to deny it. It wouldn’t be convincing and he figured it was good for anyone to know that someone around them would hold them accountable. But maybe he could offer a little olive branch. He let some discomfort show, shifting his weight. “I might be a little gun-shy on the subject.”

 

Tony glanced at him, but seemed to chicken out of it, and looked back down at Phil. “Ever suspect Pepper?” he asked, casually.

 

Clint paused. He hadn’t. Pepper was just so in control. Even when she was freaking out or screaming or crying she always seemed to be doing exactly what she meant to do. And since she’d never _intend_ to hurt Phil, it was hard to imagine her doing so. “Not so far.” He hesitated. “Seriously, tho. Try not to take it personally. I worry about Thor, to. Most parents, actually. And if I’d walked in on the same scenario with Pepper and Phil that I saw with you and Phil earlier I’d have at least questioned it.”

 

Tony’s eyes got sharp. “You’d have tackled Pepper?”

 

Clint rolled his eyes a little. “I wouldn’t have to tackle Pepper to stop her from doing something. That was practically a compliment. I’d have to pin you fast to be sure to stop you from doing something.”

 

Tony raised an eyebrow at that, but his ego was intact enough to accept a fairly dubious compliment. “Plus, pretty sure if you tackled Pepper Cap would take you apart.” Tony added in tones of agreement. 

 

Clint was pretty sure Tony was _still_ the most protective of Pepper, but it was probably better to let that slide since Tony would probably get angry at Steve for being insufficiently protective if he’d realized it, and because Tony was really _bad_ at being protective of Pepper. Instead he settled on. “So are you two ever going to be on speaking terms again?”

 

“Me and…Steve?” he checked. Clint nodded. Tony shook his head. “You remember Peppers last pregnancy? It was a disaster. This one doesn’t seem likely to be any better. And I can’t…”

 

“She’d skin you if she heard you talking like that.” Pepper hated that Tony blamed Steve for this. Pepper took full responsibility for herself and her body. 

 

Tony exhaled, slowly. “If she comes through this allright, and Rogers still wants to talk to me…”

 

“He wants to talk to you.” Clint answered flatly. Tony was the dumbest genius on the planet. Steve was miserable about Tony not talking to him off the field. It bordered on pathetic. But Tony had Bruce to talk to, and Rhodey, and Steve mostly kept to himself. Clint tried to get some time with the guy, but Steve played his cards close to the vest and didn’t seem interested in opening up to someone who wasn’t Tony or Pepper, and both relationships were strained right now. 

 

Tony didn't say anything, just looked down at Phil, running his fingers carefully though the mess of fine curls. Clint pressed on. "You know your the only friend he's got that's a dad."

 

Tony smiled bitterly. "I don't think his experience and mine are going to be a lot alike."

 

Clint couldn't imagine a situation likely to be more like Tony's than this. Both superheros. Both kids with the same mom. Neither of them together with her anymore. They were going to be living in the same building for chirstsakes. "Come again?"

 

Tony glanced up at him, critically, then looked back down. "That kid is either going to be like Pepper, or like Steve. Not like Phil. Normal little kids make a mess. Phil dismantles robots when you're not looking, won't sit still, won't sleep..."

 

"He's sleeping now."

 

"Yeah." Tony smiled down at the kid. “Pretty cute, to. When he's not destroying anything."

 

"Pretty cute even when he is. Wait till he figures out he can get away with more because of it. Is he looking forward to having a new baby brother?"

 

Tony frowned, and his hand went still, curling protectively around Phills shoulder. "He doesn't get it, yet. He's never really been around babies. Doesn't understand what this means." Tony made it sound like a death sentence.

 

Well, maybe Clint didn't really get it either. Not as if having a brother had gone too great for him. But Steve, Pepper and Tony...they seemed to have the potential to do this right. And Phil was a handful, but he was a good kid. "Maybe he'll like it." he suggested.

 

Tony snorted under his breath. "Pepper and Steve's kid? Of _course_ he'll like Pepper and Steve's kid. _Everyone'_ s gonna like that kid. This is every eugenesists dream come true. A child bred for intelligence, good looks, likeability, health. What's not to like?" Tony couldn't have sounded more bitter if he'd tried.

 

Oh for fucks sake. Of all the times for Tony Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist Stark to start showing off his insecurities. jealous of a fetus. Clint sighed quietly. Well, Tony had had a pretty shit year.

 

He looked at Stark. He man looked genuinely worried. Clint watched, trying to catch his eye. "Tony?" Tony looked up at him. "It'll work out."

 

Tony looked skeptical, but he seemed to decide to at least appreciate Clint's effort. Which, fair enough. Clint didn't actually have a lot to base his assertion on. But Tony smiled crookedly.

 

Tony stood, slowly. "Well, better take advantage of the quiet while I can. You two good, here?"

 

Clint nodded. "Sure."

 

* * *

 

 

Tony was sleeping poorly. He kept waking up, not quite in a panic but tense, restless. He was only half asleep when something touched him- just around the reactor.

 

He sat up, pushing away from the edge of the bed, arms up, ready to fight whoever or whatever was trying to take away his...

 

Phil staggered backwards, blinked up at him from where he stood next to the bed. Tony stared down at him. Oh, hell. Tony laid back down, exhausted, trying to calm down his heartrate. Phil laughed, amused by Tony's reaction. He'd arranged several fistfuls of small electronics parts on the mattress.

 

Tony closed his eyes. "Jarvis, what time is it?"

 

"Four AM, sir. And may I take this opportunity to suggest you be careful when next you get out of bed. There is an array of small parts on the floor."

 

Tony sighed. 4am. And Phil was as awake as if it was the middle of the day. He rolled over. Phil was trying to flatten a piece of kinked wire against the mattress. Tony looked down at the parts, suspiciously. "Where'd these come from?"

 

“Suckybot.” Phil answered proudly. Ah, yes, the ill-fated vacuums from earlier in the day. Wait, no there were two- so there had been another robotic casualty in his sons quest to dismantle everything he could get his hands on. And he’d hoarded away some of the parts. Then, naturally, decided to get up at 4am to come play with them in Tony's bedroom. Of course.

 

Phil didn't come up here, much. He had for a while, right after the divorce. Showing up in the workshop or Tony's new rooms at all hours, just to make sure he could find him. But lately he'd seemed content that Tony would continue to be accessible, and had been staying in Peppers place. "Can't sleep, huh?"

 

"I woke up."

 

"I see that. Did you wake up Pepper?'

 

Phil nodded, half engrossed in his toys. "Said go to bed."

 

"And did you?"

 

Phil shook his head. "No." he held up a wire “Copper.”

 

"Yes, it is. Does she think you're in bed right now?"

 

Phil shrugged. “Find daddy” he held up another piece. “Resistor.”

 

"Was she mad?"

 

Phil nodded, pulling his little goodies closer to him. Tony exhaled, slowly. Damn. "Did you break anything?" Phil nodded again, curling in a little tighter around himself and his bits of metal. "Jarvis?"

 

"One of his toys, sir, not a major appliance this time. But I did have to alert Ms. Potts that he was trying to get to the toaster again."

 

Phil looked shamefaced, and was gathering the scraps of metal in his hand. He turned to walk away from the conversation.

 

Tony reached down and plucked him up. Phil made a high-pitched noise of protest and tried to squirm away, pushing Tony away with one hand and clutching his broken parts in the other. But he didn't have quite the same energy as he had during his escape earlier in the day, and his kick was halfhearted. Two years old. Two goddamn years old and already...

 

Tony lay back down, gathering Phil up close, tucking his head under Tony's chin. He kept his voice as soft as he could make it and still try, desperately try, to make Phil understand. "You can't do this, agent. You can't be like this."

 

Phil whined again, pushing Tony away, one little hand shoving at the reactor. Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and kissed the top of his sons head. His voice sounded a whole lot more desperate than he meant it to. "Don't be like me. Ok? Don't turn out the way I did. You have to stop. You don't understand, I know. I'm sorry. But your little brother is coming and you _can't be like this_ when he gets here. You have to stop breaking things and taking them apart and upsetting everyone all the time. You don't understand what can happen. I don't want you to loose anyone."

 

Phil pushed again, weaker this time, his noise less angry and more distressed. He was scared and Tony hated scaring him but he _had_ to understand. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry your scared and I'm probably giving you some kind of complex but I really need you to understand. You have to be good. I can't do this for you. If you don't, I don't know what's going to happen and I don't want you to be alone."

 

This time Phills noise of distress was clearly on the edge of tears, and Tony didn't know how much of this Phil was even understanding, and how much of it he'd be able to control even if he did understand but Tony just couldn't think of anything else to do. Phil tried to grab him, wrapping one tiny hand around Tony's wrist. Instead of pushing, he was pulling now, trying to hold on to his dad. He wrapped his arms around Phil, who's little chest expanding in short, scared breaths. The only person Phil had ever thought he'd lost was Tony. And that had been Tony's fault to, his failing as a parent. He'd hidden from all of them for a couple weeks, and Phil couldn't understand why. A couple weeks was a lifetime in his world.

 

Why had he thought he could do this? Why had he ever thought him being a father was a good idea? He had no idea what he was doing, blindly reaching for solutions to problems he should have seen coming but had failed to account for. This sucked. He felt completely helpless, in utterly over his head. Phil started crying in earnest, and he kicked himself. This wasn't time to wallow in his own feelings here.

 

Phil tried to sound angry, but he couldn't control his breathing around the crying. "No!" that was all the more sense Phil would be able to make of this. Tony'd scared him and he just wanted the scary things not to be. Phil kicked at the sheets, letting out a higher, breathier "No!" He couldn't tell what Phil understood. Maybe he was just upset because Tony was. Shit, he was probably fucking this all up.

 

He tried to make his voice soothing "Just...try to be good, ok? Try to be the best you can. That's all. That's the best you can do. Just _try_ to be good."

 

Phil was still crying, exhausted watery sobs spilling out of him. He was a lot more tired than Tony had read at first. Tony settled him closer against him, kissing the top of his head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You'll still have me, ok? I love you. I love you so much. I just want you to be ok. I want you to do better than me." Phil settled down a little, limp against him, making occasional small, high pitched noises. "Remember I love you, ok? Even if you're bad, I love you." He kissed the top of Phills head again, pulling him as close as he could without hurting him. "I love you. Daddy loves you. Always. Ok? Don't forget that. No matter what." Phil quieted, tucking his head under Tony's. He could feel a pressure in his chest as Phil put a small, chubby hand to push against the reactor. Phil had always liked the reactor. Pepper used to joke Tony was a father and nightlight in one. Too bad Pepper hadn't needed a nightlight. "Just try to be good for me, ok? Try to be good for daddy. I love you, so much. No matter what, I promise."

 

Phil pushed away, but not violently. He leaned back, looking up at Tony's face, anxious big blue eyes glowing bluer in the light. He searched Tony's face. Tony leaned forward and kissed his forehead, whispering. "I love you. I promise."

 

Phil searched his face again, letting go of Tony's wrist to touch Tony's face with little fingers, his other hand still pushing against the arc reactor. He leaned up and kissed Tony's chin, then sat back to observe the reaction nervously. Already so afraid of how his affection would be received. Tony smiled at him, maybe a little unsteadily, and Phil returned him a nearly identical smile of his own. Still heartbreakingly like Tony.

 

"You tired?" he asked. Phil nodded piteously. "Wanna sleep up here tonight?" Phil looked down at the reactor, both hands playing with the light. He nodded again. Tony re-settled himself to get comfortable for a while with Phil in his arms. Phil leaned his head against Tony's shoulder, fingers till playing against the light. Not quite passing out like he would in a little bit, but he seemed content to stay still where he was.

 

He kissed the top of Phills head again for good measure. "Love you, agent." He felt the head on his shoulder nudge towards him just a little further.

 

 


	10. Aftermath Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They got the kids home safe from another kidnapping. Now they had to remember how to breathe again.

Tony stretched his legs out against the floor of Peppers great room, trying to get the muscles to relax. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to convince himself to get out of emergency mode. They got the boys back. They took out the bad-guys. Everyone was fine. Everyone was safe. 

 

Pepper was sleeping on the couch, behind him, with Phil curled up in her arms. They'd both fallen asleep crying- Peppers makeup still traced the places the tears had been. He was thankful, now, that they were quiet. The older Phil got, the more he understood of his situation when these things happened, and the more freaked out he was by them. This time was much worse than the last. This time, since returning home, he screamed every time an insufficient number of safe adults were in physical contact with him. Right now that meant Pepper at his back, Tony's hand in his little hand, and one of Steve's hands resting lightly on his foot.

 

Jamie, at two years old, didn't really understand the situation. But he understood Phil crying and was terrified of Pepper crying. He was currently curled in a cradle composed of Steve's legs and one arm, where Steve sat beside Tony on the floor, back similarly braced against Peppers couch. Jamie was out cold. He'd fallen asleep shortly after Pepper, as soon as Steve had managed to wrangle him into a position where he could see Pepper, Phil, Steve and Tony all at the same time.

 

In the kitchen, across the room, Tony could hear quiet movement. He couldn’t quite get used to it, but after really, really bad missions one or more of the others often just showed up. These particular sounds were probably Clint, quietly cooking enough food for the next couple of days, and packing it away in the freezer. He’d seen Bruce around here a while ago, to, just tidying up all the little things Pepper hadn’t gotten to in the couple of days the boys had been gone and the team had been out working to get them back. He knew Thor was gone- he’d only stopped by long enough to show Signe that the boys were ok before ushering her off to bed. Tony was at least as thankful for that as he was for the cooking. Both that he’d shown Signe they were ok, and that he’d removed her. She’d be bouncing off the walls all night. Natasha was downstairs, fielding questions from SHEILD or anyone else that just _had_ to talk to an Avenger right damn now. He was sure there would be several such calls. 

 

He wasn’t used to this kind of thing- having people other than Pepper who weren’t nameless hired hands looking after him in these little ways. Something about their volunteer status gave the whole thing a surreally intimate feel. It was a little unsettling. But he wasn’t about to tell them to stop. Not again, anyways. He’d actually tried that, once. Bruce had sort of puttered around after the second time Phil’d been taken and Tony had tried to argue with him about it. Bruce had shaken his head and dug in his heels and been stubborn until Tony pushed him too far. Then he just asked. _Asked_ to be allowed to stay and lend a little hand. It was uncomfortable enough Tony didn’t try again, and somewhere along the way the others had caught on and started in on the same thing. Eventually Tony’d started doing the same thing for the them, when something hit them unusually hard. He wasn’t very good at it- couldn’t cook and never wanted to move other peoples stuff enough to clean, but he tried to find little ways to contribute. 

 

Now he saw Bruce out of the corner of his eye, bobbing up and down, picking up toys on the floor. Pepper hadn’t moved them from where they’d been left, not in the days they’d been gone. Superstition or sentimentality or something.  He exhaled, slowly. Ok, maybe he was a _little_ used to them all hanging around like this. Awful circumstances aside, he might even want to get a little more used to it. He stroked the back of Phills hand, just to reassure himself again.

 

It occurred to him, distantly, to get a drink. But fuck it, he was pretty comfortable where he was and the prospect of letting them out of his sight long enough to get something was more stress-inducing than the alcohol was worth. He’d probably camp out on Peppers couch for a day or two, and pretend it was for the boy’s sake. He wondered what Steve would do. Well, the two arms of the couch were plenty long enough for them to sleep one on each side. Phil was so used to seeing Steve around all the time now…it would probably help him calm down faster if Steve just stayed here, and obviously Jamie would need him nearby. Tony glanced over at Steve, tilting his head to try and see his face, trying to gauge how Steve would take the idea.

 

His eyes widened a little. Most of Steve’s expression seemed totally normal, bordering on stoic, but there was something around his eyes- open too wide with pupils way too small. No color in his face. Oh fuck. Of course. Tony felt a surge of guilt at not having registered this sooner. He nudged Steve’s side with his own. “Hey.”

 

No response. At all. Shit. He tried again, keeping his voice down to avoid waking the others or startling Steve. “Hey. You in there, Cap?” 

 

There was a long pause, and Steve nodded numbly. Tony was not at all sure Steve actually registered his words so much as that someone was saying something. He was clearly not quite with them, curling around Jamie and away from the rest of the world.

 

Ok, so for once Tony could empathize with someone and _100%_ understand how they were feeling. Helpless and guilty and terrified no matter how many times he told himself everything was ok now. Tony himself seemed to be fairing marginally better this time...something about the combination of less competent bad-guys, having the team with him the whole time and...he didn't like to think he was getting used to this, but it defiantly wasn't like the first time had been.

 

Only, for Steve, this was the first time.

 

Steve’s posture shifted suddenly, and his voice got sharp, scared. “Jamie?”

 

That got Tony’s attention, he sat up, leaning to look at the 2 year old. But…Jamie looked fine. Sleeping the boneless, slack sleep only an exhausted toddler could manage. Steve’s voice was more desperate this time, he shook Jamie, slightly. “ _Jamie?”_

 

Now Tony saw what Steve saw. Jamie was completely still, limp, and unresponsive. Steve’s line of reasoning wasn’t hard to read from there. Tony reached out to plant a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying harder to get his attention this time “Steve. Keep your voice down. Look, check his breathing. He always sleeps like that. He’s two. He’s fine. Let them sleep.”

 

Steve’s head snapped back towards Tony, his expression was real panic this time.  He was hearing Tony, but couldn't believe what Tony was saying.

 

Ok, calming Steve down. Tony could do this. Steve did it for him so…how did Steve do that? He concentrated on keeping his voice soothing. “He’s ok. He’s just sleeping.” 

 

Steve seemed to be really trying to process what Tony was saying, thinking hard, but his eyes were still glazed over, blind with fear. He looked on the verge of an honest-to-god panic attack. Tony hadn’t seen to many of them from the outside before, but he’d had enough of them to feel pretty sure that was where Steve was headed.

 

He thought about what kept him grounded to reality when he was about to go over the edge. Something to focus on- no, nothing was going to get Steve’s attention off Jaimie till he was satisfied he was alright. Fighting- no. Steve wasn’t going to pick a fight and there was no way Tony was going to push him when he was this raw. Shots. No, not fast enough and no good on Steve anyways. Breathing. Tony hated that one because it reeked of psychotherapy but now and then it did actually work. But, he’d have to get and hold Steve’s attention to get him to try it. Which led him to the last one- when he’d been married to Pepper and on the verge of panicking to the point of not knowing what was going on around him, touching her was one of the best methods he’d found of keeping his brain from running away with him.  Pepper herself had nightmares, crying spells, and plenty of panic, but she never lost herself the way Tony sometimes did. The way Steve seemed to be gearing up to do now.

 

Come to think of it, Steve had done the same thing a time or two. Maybe more, now that Tony thought about it. Well, Steve was also just kind of a hands-on guy. He touched people, mostly in small, unobtrusive ways. Steve liked touching. 

 

He hesitated a second over the potential weirdness factor before noticing that Steve's hands might, just maybe, be starting to shake. Steve hadn’t minded Tony’s hand on his shoulder, so…this time he reached over and touched Steve’s face, lightly, carefully laying his fingers along Steve’s jaw. Steve’s expression flickered. He’d registered it, at least. Bt his breathing was starting to speed up a little. Tony reluctantly let go of Phills hand, glancing back to make sure it didn’t disturb him. But Phil was deep asleep now and didn’t seem to notice. And he was ok. Tony didn’t need to grab on to him. He didn’t. 

 

Steve was less ok. He curled a little more around Jamie, searching him desperately with his eyes, still seeing him, dead or dying instead of sleeping peacefully. He opened his mouth, probably to try to wake Jamie again. But the last thing Jamie needed after the last few days was to wake up to see his dad panicking. “Steve.” Tony interrupted him, keeping his voice quiet but working to sound just a little commanding. Orders or things that sounded like them were also good at getting Caps attention. But this time Steve didn’t look at him. Tony reached over, very gently, to Steve’s hand on Phills leg, slowly pulling it off. Steve's hand was definatly shaking.

 

That grabbed Steve’s attention, his head came up, alarmed at the loss of contact with Phil. His expression _did_ something to Tony’s heart- the way Steve's attention snapped to the loss of contact with Phil, even as he was half convinced Jamie was dying. Steve's eyes darted to Tony, full of terror and _pleading_ , silently asking Tony not to make him let go, but he let Tony move his hand. Tony placed it gently on Jamies chest, “Here.” Tony scooted over on the floor until he was shoulder to shoulder with Steve. He held Steve’s hand in place lightly, and Steve looked down at it. “See? Feel that? He’d breathing. He’s fine. You feel it? Cause I can through your hand so you should be able to. See?”

 

Steve didn’t say anything. Tony made a note to himself- when nearing panic, Steve may go from laconic to borderline mute. He wasn't even sure if Steve remembered how to talk right now. Tony watched his friends expression. The way his eyebrows came together, focusing on the subtle rise and fall of his hand. Seemed like he’d heard Tony this time and understood him. Ok, going good. Keep on this track then.  Tony shifted flush against Steve’s side, noting a slight tremor he hadn't been able to see but could feel running through Steve. He switched out which of his hands was on Steve's, moving the other to circle Steve's shoulders. For once, Steve wasn’t radiating absurd amounts of body heat, and somehow that worried Tony. He wasn’t cold enough for it to be actual shock, but he didn’t like the similarity. Tony dredged up some half-remembered comfort someone- probably Pepper or Steve, had offered him in the past, and put his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, just firm enough to be a definite presence there. 

 

Tony couldn't be completely sure he wasn't imagining it, but he thought maybe Steve was slowly calming back down. Too slowly. Turn up the volume, then. He ran his thumb up and down the back of Steve;s neck, again mimicking something he hadn’t been aware enough to fully remember. “He’s ok. Everyone’s ok. He’s sleeping like that because he feels safe now, ok? He knows he’s ok. We’ve got him.” Tony leaned his forehead against the side of Steve’s head. “He’s ok. You can feel him breathing. He’s not even hurt. He’s fine.” He wasn't sure how much the words mattered, but they were true and Tony didn't mind hearing them himself and hopefully the sound of Tony being calmish would do something.

 

Motion caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He glanced over at Bruce, standing behind the back of the couch, watching, looking worried and sympathetic. Clint was joining him, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder, standing a few feet behind with a similar expression. For one second Tony felt an urge to chase them off, to protect Steve from being seen like this, but their expressions stopped him. Either one of them would be doing what Tony was doing if it was called for. Nobody here was going to think less of Steve for being afraid of this. Tony tried to ignore a small sense of freedom coming from that realization. Tony smiled tightly at them. Bruce returned it. Clint turned back to the kitchen. 

 

Tony shifted, holding the top of Steve’s thick neck, and closed his eyes, kept muttering reassurances against Steve’s hair. Steve leaned into him, accepting what Tony was offering and damn that felt good. He let go of Steve’s neck and ran a hand up and down his shoulder. 

 

A little noise in front of them got Tony’s attention. Bruce was kneeling in front of Steve, wedged awkwardly between the captain and the big square ottoman. He ducked his head, trying to get Steve to meet his eyes. He smiled up at him, his smile wider and more natural looking than Tony’s. Bruce was also keeping his voice low. “Hey. Hi. Want me to have a look?” he made a small gesture at Jamie. 

 

Tony smiled wryly. Sure, why the hell not. If you have a doctor in the same room why not get him to pronounce Jamie healthy. Tony shifted to see Steve’s expression. He seemed to be mostly with them now. Still afraid, but seeing what was in front of him. Tony felt a tremor run along Steve’s shoulders. He looked at Bruce, but didn’t respond. Bruce hesitated, perpetually awkward, before leaning forward, picking up one limp little wrist, his thumb on a pulse point. Steve didn’t speak, but he watched Bruce, eyes going anxiously between Bruce and the little boy in his arms. Bruce kept on his calm smile, ignoring Steve for the moment to make a show of putting his full attention on Jamie. He checked his pulse, his breathing. At one point Jamie squirmed a little, made a tiny sound of protest, but Bruce just smiled a little wider, and managed to finish without waking him up. He looked back at Steve. “He’s just fine. Getting some good, deep sleep. Just what he needs now.” Bruce looked up over Steve’s shoulder, and Tony followed his gaze. Clint leaned over the back of the couch, handing a glass of ice water down to Bruce, who reached up to take it. 

 

Bruce sat back on his heels, holding the glass in front of Steve. “I want you to drink this. Ok?”

 

Steve blinked at him. Clint climbed over the back of the couch and perched on it, watching. Steve nodded at Bruce. Then nodded again, trying to clear his head. He shifted to take the glass before registering that he had one hand under Jamie and the other resting on Jamies chest, under Tony’s hand. Monitoring his breathing. He looked conflicted. Still not _quite_ back to rational, then. Tony pulled his hand off Steve's, which got him the briefest flicker of an anxious glance from Steve,  and gently slipped his hand _under_ Steve's, directly on Jamies pj clad chest. There. Now Steve would know someone was monitoring him. Steve watched their hands for a short second. Tony reminded him what he was supposed to be doing. “Steve. Water.” A cold drink was another good trick for bringing reality back. He’d never tried it with water before, but from the looks of it Clint and Bruce knew what they were doing. Which was another kind of reassuring. 

 

There was another smaller tremor he doubted the others could see, but Steve raised his hand to accept the glass from Bruce. He took one drink, and flinched at the cold water. But it must have helped because he downed the rest without a pause. He lowered the glass, and Clint’s hand appeared from behind them to take it out of his hand. Steve glanced back, noticing Clints presence for the first time. He looked back towards Bruce, then started to turn to look at Tony before ducking his head, embarrassed. Tony considered moving back, letting go. Giving Steve some personal space. But, while Steve looked embarrassed he also still looked..distressed. Tony didn’t move. 

 

Steve took a deep, slightly shuttering breath, and his posture shifted, no longer tightly curled inward or rigid with fear. He didn’t look at any of them. He muttered a sincere little “Sorry.” 

 

Proof positive that he was back with them. Music to Tony’s ears. He gave what he hoped was a subtle squeeze of a hug with the arm around Steve’s shoulders. Bruce smiled and patted him on the knee. Clint gave a quiet “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Steve smiled shakily, still not looking up. The corners of his mouth weren’t quite in a smile. He took another slow, shuddering breath, then ducked his head lower. But Tony could still see his face from this angle, see Steve trying to keep it from crumpling. The others wouldn’t be able to see it, but the smallest, breathiest sob got away from him a split second later, as Steve tried to choke it back. Tony tightened his grip, pressing his lips against the side of Steve’s head and leaning into him. He wanted Steve to _get_ that this was ok. If there was anything, any one thing it was ok to freak out or cry about, this was it. And since Steve was apparently a ninja master of panic attacks, he needed to know he could let them…Tony at least…know when he wasn’t ok. Steve leaned into Tony. Clint slid carefully off the back of the couch, avoiding waking Pepper. He didn’t touch Steve, but just the act of approaching was a nice, quiet way of telling Steve he wasn’t judging him over this. Bruce hesitantly put his hand on Steve’s knee again.

 

Unsurprisingly, Steve wasn’t much of a crier. A few bare minutes with almost silent sobs and just a few tears, and he seemed to get his equilibrium most of the way back. If he was anything like Tony, it would be a few days before it was all the way back. Actually, Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever got it completely back since the first time Pepper was taken. Even after Steve’s quiet meltdown was over, he didn’t move to distance himself from Tony. Instead, he leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder, eyes closed. Tony wasn't about to disturb him.

 

Bruce was the first to speak, using the same gentle yet not condescending voice he used with the kids “You should both get some rest. Some real sleep.”

 

 

Yes. Sleep. Sleep sounded good. Tony needed sleep. He was sure Steve needed sleep. He didn’t know how much Bruce or Clint had managed sleep during all this- hopefully more than Tony had, but Tony, at least, needed some sleep.

 

Steve opened his eyes, back to worry again, holding back against saying something. Oh. Oh _Right_. Tony could help with this. “We should probably stay here a few days. For the boys. Pepper wont mind. We can sleep on the couch.”

 

Steve looked up at him, radiating gratitude and a delicate kind of hope. Tony rubbed his back again. Steve nodded. 

 

Clint was looking past both of them. “I don’t know that this couch has room for three.” He sounded hesitant, regretful to point it out. Tony followed Clints eyes to where Pepper was still sleeping. Yeah, there was no way Tony wanted to wake her up right now. And if the three of them weren't in one room, where would the boys sleep? No, Pepper should stay right where she was. He ran through a couple of quick options, speeding through them as he felt Steve wilt, just a minute amount, beside him. Probably trying to work up the nerve to say it was ok to boot him out. 

 

Tony nodded to himself, solution obtained. “Sure there is.”  He stood, which meant he had to let Steve go, which was a shame, somehow. But _this_ was also for Steve, so that was allright. “Here. Bruce. Out of the way.” He said, making a shooing motion. Bruce hurried to comply as Steve got much more slowly to his feet, still cradling Jamie. Tony shoved the large ottoman into the corner joint of the couch, adding several feet to the corner. While he did, Clint got back up over the couch and disappeared down the hall. Tony settled into the corner, shoving the cushions around and stretching his legs out on the ottoman. He’d have to sleep sitting up, but that was low on the list of strange positions he’d slept in and this was an excellently comfortable couch. He didn't think even Jarvis could count how many times Tony had slept on this couch. He looked up at Steve, and gestured to the whole other arm of the couch. “See, plenty of room.”

 

Steve shot him another radiatingly thankful look, with slightly more robust hope, and nodded his thanks. Clint reappeared with armfuls of blankets and pillows. Tony grabbed a couple pillows, shoving one behind his back, and hesitating what to do with the other. He looked at Pepper, whose head would now be next to his right leg. She’d fallen asleep crying, and hadn’t really gotten herself situated. He hesitated, but decided to risk it. Again, he tried to make his voice as soft and reassuring as possible as he touched her shoulder. “Pep. Hey.” She stirred and, like he'd hoped, managed to wake up without panic. She blinked at him, barely half awake. He offered the pillow. “Pillow. For your neck.” She nodded, shifting just a little. He decided to spare her the last of the effort and the chance of waking Phil, and slid the pillow under her head, brushing her hair out of the way. She shut her eyes and sank into it, then shifted into a more comfortable position before falling right back asleep again. Clint draped a blanket over her, and she sighed.

 

He tossed another at Tony, who managed to catch it. Steve settled in, wrapping around Jamie and angling himself so he could readily see the rest of them. Clint threw Tony another blanket, but Steve didn’t seem to be bothering with one, and Jamie wouldn’t need one tucked next to him. Steve was generating his usual jouls of heat again. He put the blanket next to his legs on the ottoman in case Steve needed it later. Steve closed his eyes, Tony was thankful he seemed to feel relaxed enough to sleep. And that if any of them had bad dreams there would be someone to wake them up. 

 

Tony leaned back, as Bruce got his attention. “I’m gonna go, allright? Check in sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

 

 Tony smiled at him. These people. So ridiculous. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

Clint leaned on the back of the couch. “I’m just gonna finish up the rest of these dishes, then I’ll head out to.“ Tony just nodded. They both walked out of his line of sight, and he closed his eyes. He shifted, annoyed by the slight discomfort of not seeing any of them. 

 

But…if Pepper and Steve had both been crying and panicking tonight, Tony could be forgiven just a _little_ demand, right? They’d let it pass, if they even noticed. He reached out, eyes still closed, and placed one light hand on Peppers shoulder, and one on Steve’s back, who he could almost swear sighed at the contact. And not the long-suffering sigh, either. The kind Tony might have made himself.

 

Yeah. That helped. One hand on Steve and one on Pepper and trusting that either of them would wake up and move immediately if the boys weren’t ok. He reminded himself that he only had to open his eyes to see them all from here. He did it once, just as a confirmation, and saw nothing but the four of them laying peacefully. He exhaled, and closed his eyes again, relaxing back into the cushions. He listened to the quiet hum of the tower, tinkling of dishes being cleaned in the kitchen, and four sets of slow, steady breathing until sleep claimed him.


End file.
